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CAROLINE’S CAREER 


JSp ILela Jf>orn 3&icf)arl>s 

Then Came Caroline 
Caroline at College 
Caroline’s Career 

































' 











They were out in the street now, in the deafening 

frontispiece. See page 144. 


roar 






CAROLINE’S CAREER 


BY 

LELA HORN RICHARDS 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

M. L. GREER 


In QN-REFER T 



doWVAO ♦ Q3S 


) 


5 

) 


BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1923 














~y{zTtA 

^ri 


Copyright, 1923, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 


All rights reserved 
Published September, 1923 



-v 


Printed in the United States of America 


0C1 -''v 1923 7 <\ 

©C1A76016 2 


AV • 



To 

CATHERINE 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Changes. 1 

II Old Memories.20 

III September the Fifteenth .... 44 

IV Adjustments.57 

V Caroline Plans a Party.66 

VI Old Friends.82 

VII Good-by to Old Surroundings ... 97 

VIII Alison.106 

IX Maumy Rachel.125 

X Leigh’s Home.143 

XI New York.157 

XII Caroline Meets an Old Friend . . . 175 

XIII Disturbing News.190 

XIV A Visitor from California . . . .215 

XV Mr. Decoursey Offers Help .... 242 

XVI Caroline’s Play.258 

XVII A Happy Christmas and a Wedding . 271 

XVIII Great-Aunt Caroline.283 

XIX Caroline’s Career.292 













ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

They were out in the street now, in the deafening 


roar. Frontispiece 

It was a faded slip of paper.13 


‘ ‘ IT1 tell you some wonderful news. Scrumptious! ’ ’ 184 

A door opened. Leigh followed Caroline in, and 
saw a heavy, stolid man 


265 






CAROLINE’S CAREER 


CHAPTER I 

CHANGES 

‘1\/TOVING,” mused Caroline, as she brushed 
ItX the blue velvet portieres and laid them 
carefully away in a packing box that yawned in 
the front hall, “ wasn’t altogether exciting.” It 
was wearisome; her back ached from lifting 
boxes and baskets, from wiping down heavy 
tarnished frames that held priceless Kirtley 
portraits. 

Her brain was a little befuddled too. Only a 
moment before she had put the solid silver, en¬ 
trusted to her from her mother’s fair white hands, 
in the washtub that held kitchen utensils. An in¬ 
sult to Grandmother Kirtley’s immaculately pre¬ 
served teaspoons and soup ladle! Never in their 
history had such a thing happened. Kitchen im¬ 
pedimenta indeed! In all their sacred, dutiful 


2 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


years they had never so much as seen the inside 
of a kitchen. 

“ Remember the time we moved here from Vir¬ 
ginia? ” Caroline asked her sister Mayre, who was 
also busy with rugs and furniture. “ We had 
Leigh then.” Leigh, the elder sister and stay of 
the household, had married and moved East. 
41 And old Maumy Rachel. ’ ’ 

“ And Alison.” 

Alison was the sister just older than Caroline 
who had married the rich Tevis McElroy and 
moved to Richmond. 

“ A lot of help Alison was,” Caroline remarked, 
turning to the ancient volumes in the library. 
“ Do you suppose Major (her father had been 
Major to her since infancy) really wants to take 
all these antiquated histories out to the cottage? 
Here’s Bancroft and Parkman-” 

“ They’re not antiquated, I hope,” Mayre ven¬ 
tured. 

The Major’s entrance at that moment put a 
stop to the argument. 

Doctor Ravenel, a tall, fine-looking man with 
clear hazel eyes that held a kindly yet somewhat 
searching expression, paused in the disordered 
room, smiling pleasantly. 



CHANGES 


3 


“ Where is George? ” he inquired, glancing 
about. “ You should not be lifting these heavy 
things.’’ 

Caroline laughed good-naturedly. 

“ George, unfortunately, can only be in one 
place at a time, Major. He’s halfway to Broad- 
more now, with the best china.” 

“ And Martha? ” 

“ Martha’s in the attic helping mother sort 
Kirtley heirlooms. Mother rather insists upon the 
old trunks going with us; and Leigh’s high chair 
and mahogany cradle ’ ’ 

‘‘ But, my child, in a cottage ? ’ ’ 

1 ( Exactly. That’s what I said. I threw up my 
hands.” 

“ Well, if Mother wants them,” Doctor Ravenel 
said hesitatingly, “ of course they must go. I can 
quite understand about the cradle. You were all 
rocked in it. But the trunks. What have they in 
them? ” 

“ Oh, odds and ends. Grandmother Kirtley’s 
wedding garments, and Mother’s; your wedding 
su it — lovely, Major, it is, too. Tails a yard long. 
Mercy, Mayre, you aren’t putting books with pic¬ 
tures! You are as bad as I am.” 



4 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

Mayre ran a begrimed hand across a tired 
brow. 

“ I do feel a little dazed/ ’ she admitted, with 
a slow smile. “ But we are almost through. I 
think this is the last load. The old house begins 
to look empty. Oh, dear, I do hate to leave it.” 

“You hated to come into it, too,” Caroline re¬ 
minded. “ It was painted red, you know. You 
detested the color. Remember how Mother scolded 
me for teasing you about it. My devil was out for 
exercise and I bantered you.” Her silvery laugh 
dropped to a chuckle. 

Mayre sat down on a pile of books and looked 
about. The Major had gone back to his office 
rooms at the extreme end of the house. Caroline 
flirted her dust cloth and attacked a musty 
volume. 

“ Remember how we used to play hide-and-go- 
seek in the hall out there, and how Maumy Rachel 
would catch you by one wriggling arm when you 
ventured too near her kitchen? ” Mayre began 
reminiscently. 

“ Dear old Maumy,” Caroline said softly. 

“ And how Leigh would fret because we tore 
our frocks on that crazy corner that’s splintered 
yet; it never would stay mended.” 


CHANGES 


5 


“ Precious Leigh! ” 

“ And the time Alison had her birthday party 
and you entertained her beaux in the hall upstairs. 
Maumy was furious! I remember to this day how 
she came down the back way and sent me scurry¬ 
ing for Mother. 1 Dat lil debil of a Miss Caroline 
she done set up a party ob her own on the second 
landing/ she said. ‘ Yes’m, she have, and I 
reckon Miss Embly better go up and settle her. 
She done got all Miss Alison’s beaux a-carrying 
her ice cream and cake, and a-dancin’ all over the 
corridor. Yes’m.’ ” 

“ I know, I was incorrigible! That’s the night 
I fell in love with Jimmy Ludlow. Oh, but I had 
a case on him. He was such a dear. Remember, 
I had a patch on my nose; I had fallen oft the 
flagpole at school. Major fixed me up.” 

Mayre’s eyes traveled on to the front door, 
with its cloudy pane of glass. They both laughed, 
and Mayre said: 

“ It wasn’t so funny then — not by any means, 
the day you asked me if I could write my name in 
the frost with my nose — and when I tried, you 
banged my head and the glass broke.” 

“ And you will carry the scar to your death,” 
Caroline said, tracing the scarcely visible line on 


6 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Mayre’s curved upper lip. “ How you must have 
hated me! M 

“ You were a handful.” 

“ Yes — I was; but I had such an adoring 
family. You were too patient with me. Oh, 
Mayre, how can we leave the old place? It’s so 
full of memories — precious, precious memories. 
Why, it was just there, through that door, Leigh 
said good-by to us when she went away with Blair. 
Can’t you see her now in her blue gown, her arm 
tucked through his, blowing kisses to us with her 
free hand? Oh, she was so dear and pretty! ” 

She paused for a minute, her eyes soft and 
dreamy. 

“ And it was upstairs,” she went on presently, 
“ up in the old guest room that little Hope left us. 
Just at hush time when everything was so still.” 

Tears filled Caroline’s dusky eyes and fell upon 
her round, brown cheeks. 

“ Oh, Mayre, people aren’t a bit fair to old 
houses. Homes that shelter them for the best 
years of their lives; give all they have for their 
joys and sorrows, and then, when they get old and 
shabby and run dowm, they go away and leave 
them; nail them up or turn them over to people 
who don’t care a fig for them.” 


CHANGES 


7 

“ But Father and Mother couldn’t live here 
alone, Caroline — with us away. Why, they 
would be lost in these big rooms.” 

“ Of course, I know — but it isn’t fair. I love 
every stick and stone of this old place; and some¬ 
how I feel that it loves me.” 

“ You are so imaginative.” 

“ No. Loyal-” 

“ That too; but after all a house is just a 
house.” 

“ Plus love and memories. You can’t sell 
them; they don’t go with the deed. Father hasn’t 
sold your garden out there.” She nodded to the 
window. “ He hasn’t sold your honeysuckles and 
hollyhocks and coreopsis — they belong to old 
mother earth. Next year she will send them up 
again, cunning infants, cuddling in the sunshine, 
nodding in the wind.” 

“ Caroline, please-” 

The garden was Mayre’s one vulnerable spot. 
Her eyes filled. 

“I’m glad you’re crying. You ought to. It 
wouldn’t be respectable or decent — or grateful 
if you didn’t. It’s a tribute to all the old place 
has given.” 




8 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Mayre never paraded her emotions. She strove 
generally to hide them. 

“ Where do you think I should pack this vase, 
Caroline? ” she asked, making a dash for the 
mantel. “ It is the one Great-grandfather Kirtley 
gave to Great-aunt Martha for a wedding gift.” 

Caroline took it and tenderly wiped the dust 
from its delicate curves. “ I’ll look after it,” she 
said. “ It must be wrapped very carefully 
inside and out.” 

Mayre reached for the vase. 

‘ 4 Perhaps Mother had better take it on her lap 
when she goes down in the car,” she said, and 
slowly mounted the stairs. 

Two months and more had passed since Caro¬ 
line’s graduation at the University of California. 
Two swiftly moving months; for with old 
acquaintances to be renewed, old haunts to be 
visited, new quarters to be selected, time had 
taken wings. 

The rambling red house at the head of the 
avenue, so dear to Caroline’s childhood, had not 
been occupied by the family for some time. With 
Leigh’s marriage, Caroline’s and Mayre’s exodus 
to college, and old negro Maumy’s breakdown, it 
had seemed far too large for two lonely, middle- 


CHANGES 


9 


aged people, so Doctor Eavenel had rented it to 
desirable tenants, removing his wife to a comfort¬ 
able hotel until the children (Caroline and Mayre 
would always be children to him) returned to 
occupy it once more with them. 

But Mayre and Caroline had returned with 
plans of their own, and the old home, in view of 
their extended absence, had seemed impossible of 
habitation. A search was immediately begun for 
a cottage, one that Mrs. Eavenel could manage 
with a trusty servant. 

The immediate neighborhood had been searched, 
but nothing suitable found. Doctor Eavenel 
rather inclined to the suburbs; out Broadmore 
way, where their old neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Lud¬ 
low and their son Jimmy, had ventured a year 
before. 

It was Caroline who discovered the bungalow, 
a house of six rooms set in a tangle of trees with 
a murmuring stream singing its way through the 
back yard, a clear, enchanting stream fringed with 
willows. 

The natural beauty of the place had encouraged 
inspection. An early morning in July found the 
entire family tramping through the grounds, ex- 


10 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

amining entrances and exits, inspecting trees and 
shrubs. 

“ I like it immensely,” Caroline announced 
after the first round. “ Isn’t it pleasant? ” The 
large living room, with its beamed ceilings, its 
French windows opening on a wide veranda, its 
ample hearth, was hospitably inviting. 

Mayre looked on with dreamy, half-closed eyes. 

“ Yes, I like it too,” she said. “ I can see it 
furnished with mother’s beautiful old things. 
But it must be kept simple. Soft white curtains 
to billow in the breeze at those west windows; blue 
Chinese rugs on the floor — willow furniture on 
the veranda.” 

“ Chinese rugs, indeed! ’’her father said, giving 
her small pink ear a pinch as he passed her on his 
way to the bedrooms. “ Where do you propose to 
get them? ” 

“ With the money that is left from the old house 
when you sell it,” she retorted quickly. “ You 
have no more girls to educate and can afford to 
indulge Mother’s whims now and then.” 

Mrs. Ravenel smiled her appreciation. “ Mayre 
is quite right, Doctor,” she said. “ Soft blue rugs 
would be most harmonious with this cream wood- 


CHANGES 


11 


work and beveled glass, and as Mayre says, we 
shall feel a little less cramped now.” 

Caroline flashed a loving look in her mother’s 
direction. The old adoration had not lessened. 
Mrs. Ravenel was still the center of the family’s 
universe. Time had dealt very gently with her. 
She had grown a little stouter with the years, but 
her form still held attractive curves; her hands, 
heavily ringed with handsome Kirtley jewels, 
were, as always, white and soft. 

Fortune favored an early sale of the old red 
house. Its location was greatly to its advantage, 
and, as Mayre had suspected, there was a hand¬ 
some profit for rugs. 

It was early August when dismantlement came. 
Extra people were called in to assist Martha, the 
colored cleaning woman who had helped since old 
Maumy’s departure, and her son George, a man 
of all work about town. There had been many 
sighs as pictures were lifted from ancient hooks, 
bookcases emptied, cupboards cleaned, for the 
place had been a real home. 

Mayre carried the vase up to her mother, while 
Caroline turned her steps toward the tower room, 
a sanctum that had been wholly hers. She opened 
the creaking door slowly. Two years had passed 


12 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


since she turned the key in the rusty old lock and 
'it moved stubbornly. 

As she had suspected, the room was close and 
cobwebby, but she entered wistfully, throwing up 
the south windows and standing for a moment to 
drink in the view that met her eyes. 

“ Still here, old man of the mountain! ” she 
said, waving a salute to the stately Peak that had 
been so much a part of her childhood. “ Good 
morning. ‘ Hope ah sees y’ well,’ as old Maumy 
used to say.” 

She turned to a battered desk standing between 
the west windows and sat down in a dilapidated 
swivel chair that had once matched it. For a 
while she sat staring at the mountain, sometimes 
lifting a dusty hand to push away tears that in¬ 
sisted upon running down her cheeks. 

u I wish I could take you with me to New 
York,” she said, turning at last to the desk and 
tracing its scars affectionately, “ old, and ugly 
and scratched as you are. I shall always adore 
you. But I suppose the time has come to say 
good-by. Mr. Metcalf (the new owner) will soon 
be making kindling wood of you, or donating you 
to a rummage sale.” 

She opened the drawers, one by one, and threw 



It was a faded slip of paper. Page 13 











CHANGES 


13 


the contents on the floor, — old notebooks, scraps 
of manuscripts, clippings from newspapers, a few 
letters. 

‘ ‘ I am not even going to sort you,' ’ she said to 
the indiscriminate mass fast growing into a pile, 
but she did stoop to save a slip of paper that had 
fallen with the rest, and a glow trailed a brown 
cheek as she held it to the light. 

‘ 1 Funny that I should find this — to-day , 9 9 she 
whispered. 

It was a faded slip of paper, dusty and time- 
stained, but she held it against the light and smil¬ 
ingly read the words that were written upon it. 

“ September the fifteenth, 19 — 

“ The Mesa, four o'clock.” 

9 

She reached into the depths cf a pocket and 
brought up a letter of the same chirography, — a 
masculine hand that, from its closely connected 
letters, denoted neatness and attention to detail. 

It was dated London, July 20,-. It began: 

Dear Caroline: — 

Mother and I are sailing for home the day after 
to-morrow. To say that we can scarcely wait for 
the ship to move is putting it mildly. After two 
years in this devastated, heart-broken region I 



14 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


am anxious to set foot on native soil, to learn to 
smile and laugh, again under the Stars and 
Stripes. I am quite tit again and heartened for 
the journey home. Mother is well, and, as usual, 
sends a great deal of love to all the Ravenels. We 
took time while in this vicinity to look up Madame 
Wakefield, your erstwhile friend, and received a 
royal welcome. She lives in a splendid old place, 
quite regal in fact, with numerous servants to 
wait upon her and care for her vast estate. But 
she is sadly changed. The war has played havoc 
with so many of these English women. 

Am leaving further news of Madame and her 
many messages until I see you. We shall reach 
home about the fourteenth of August, if all goes 
well, and I am expecting you to keep that oft de¬ 
ferred tryst with me out on the mesa — on the 
fifteenth. For two years I have pictured you 
waiting for me there (in that white sport suit 
you wore the last time we went up in the canon — 
remember? The rain almost spoilt it) with the 
wind blowing your skirts about you, your hand 
shading your eyes, as you look toward the road 
(you see I don’t forget your poses) watching for 
Pinto and me. Am I presumptuous in thinking 
you will wish to see me! If I am — then — there 
is no need of coming home — for home, Caroline, 
means only you. 

As always, 

Jimmy. 

Caroline took the slip of paper that had so long 
reposed in the bottom draw 7 er and pinned it to 


CHANGES 


15 


the letter, returning them both to her pocket. 
There was a curious expression on her face, an 
eager, yet somewhat troubled look, but her lips 
parted in a smile. As she swept the litter into an 
ample wastebasket that stood near, she hummed 

4 

a little tune. She was not so depressed as she 
had thought she would be when she finally closed 
the door to the tower room. The old association 
had been pleasant, but life was full of associations 
and the future looked rosily promising. 

She found her mother in the adjoining attic, 
comfortable on an old sofa, giving instructions to 
Martha. 

“ Ah, darling, I am glad that you have come,” 
she said, reaching out a hand and pulling Caroline 
down beside her. “ We are almost through. I 
was just saying to Martha that I think with a little 
replenishment this sofa would be fine for your 
studio; it could be shipped with your other be¬ 
longings. This old chair, also. I can so well re¬ 
member when it graced my mother’s drawing¬ 
room. It always stood near one of the heavy card 
tables. It is very hospitable with its wide arms. 
Done over in a flowered cretonne, perhaps — but 
Mayre will know about that. Her taste is always 
excellent. And these old daguerreotypes. They 


16 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


might be interesting, and you shall have some pic¬ 
tures and linen. I want to think of you as cosy 
and comfortable.” 

An arm stole around Mrs. Ravenel’s neck. 

“ You are always so thoughtful, Mother, and so 
generous. The sofa w T ill be marvelous (there were 
still streaks of college enthusiasm in Caroline’s 
vocabulary) and we should adore the chair. I 
love it, even with the old horsehair covering. It 
looks as if it had belonged, you know.” 

Mrs. Ravenel smiled. Caroline had touched a 
sympathetic chord. 

“ If that chair could speak-” she began. 

“ It would tell of the blue blood of the 
Kirtley’s-” 

“ And the old friends who once came to my 
mother’s home-” 

“ And of all the elegance-” 

“ Of the days before the war.” 

The conversation had become a duet. Mrs. 
Ravenel suggesting, Caroline supplementing. She 
knew just where to come in; all the shades and 
tremors, the low notes and the high. 

Suddenly Caroline moved closer and the arm 
about her mother’s neck tightened. 

“ Mother.” 






CHANGES 


17 


“ Yes, dear.” 

“ I am going to ask a tremendous favor.” 

“ What is it? ” 

“ Do you think — would it be possible for you 
to give me one more gift? Something I would 
rather own than anything in the world? ” 

“ What, Caroline? ” 

“ I am almost afraid to ask, Mother.” 

“ There can be no harm in asking, dear child.” 

“ It’s Great-aunt Caroline’s portrait. I’ve al¬ 
ways wanted it. I should prize it so. I’ve adored 
it — ever since I was so high.” She measured a 
hand’s breadth from the floor. 

Mrs. Ravenel seemed pleased rather than 
annoyed. 

“ I see no reason why you should not have it, 
Caroline.” 

‘ ‘ Really! Oh, Mother, it would give the studio 
such a terrible elegance! ’ ’ 

“ Terrible? ” Mrs. Ravenel’s delicately arched 
brows lifted. 

“ Well, — splendid then — you know what I 
mean. It would raise the tone — give us a 
background. ’ ’ 

“ I understand. Will you see to the packing? ” 

“ Willi? Just try me! ” 


18 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Martha had put the cover on the last box and 
stood quietly waiting for further orders. 

“ That will be all — up here, thank you, 
Martha,’’ Mrs. Ravenel said with her accustomed 
courtesy. “ You may go back to the kitchen and 
continue packing the utensils there. I think we 
shall be ready to leave the house this afternoon.” 

“ Do you hate going, Mother? ” Caroline asked, 
w T atching the clear brow for a change of 
expression. 

“ Hate, Caroline? ” 

“ Dislike.” 

“ The breaking up of a home is always a sad 
event. * 9 

For a moment they sat in silence, each busy 
with old memories. 

“ I had a letter from Jim Ludlow this morn¬ 
ing,” Caroline said presently. 

“ Indeed? ” 

“ He will be home soon, with his mother. The 
fourteenth.” 

“Iam very glad. They are well? Jimmy has 
gained his strength after his sad ordeal in 
France? ” 

“ He says that he is quite tit.” 

Again there was silence. Mrs. Ravenel’s glance 


CHANGES 


19 


was wistful as she looked into her daughter’s se¬ 
rious face. There were questions that she longed 
to ask, but she could not. When Caroline was 
ready to confide in her she would bring her prob¬ 
lems. A reference to them would be an intrusion. 


CHAPTER II 


OLD MEMORIES 

T HE Abbey, Doctor Ravenel had laughingly 
dubbed the cottage on his last visit. Al¬ 
though it was modern and unpretentious there was 
an English atmosphere about its pointed, moss- 
colored roofs, its rambling ells, and creeping ivy; 
an ecclesiastical appearance, accentuated by the 
silence that enwrapped it. 

A winding road led to its seclusion, but the view 
from the wide veranda was broad and sweeping. 
Mrs. Ravenel liked the quiet, even the solitude. 
She was seldom lonely. She had her books and 
pictures; her correspondence, her dainty sewing, 
and Doctor Ravenel would always be at home in 
the late afternoons, before the early Colorado 
dusk closed down over the mountains. 

“ Sure, quite sure, you won’t find the place a 
little lonely, Mother dear? ” Mayre asked, feeling 
positive of the answer. 

“ No, dear child; I shall have much to amuse 
and entertain me. And you will write often. 


OLD MEMORIES 21 

There will be many letters — with you all so far 
away. 9 ’ 

There was a pathetic droop to the brave voice 
for all it protested so courageously. 

“ Let us have family round-robins, ’ ’ Caroline 
remarked. “ You can write to Leigh and let her 
send your letters to all the rest of us.” 

Mrs. Ravenel shook her head. 

“ That would rob my daughters of their own 
personal share in my love, ’ ’ she answered. 

The cottage was quite settled now, even to the 
Chinese rug that graced the living room. Mayre, 
with her usual discrimination, had made the little 
house really beautiful. The drawing-room (such 
Mrs. Ravenel always called it) held the rare old 
pieces of Kirtley furniture; the stately card tables 
stood either side of the hearth, tidy with books, 
photographs and flowers; the old sofa was before 
the open fire; and there were the simple ‘ ‘ creamy 
curtains billowing,” as Mayre had suggested, at 
the open sunny windows. 

The bedrooms looked rather odd with the heavy 
mahogany furniture, the highboys, and pineapple 
posts of the great beds rising almost to the low 
ceilings, but that did not trouble Mrs. Ravenel. 
She would not have parted with one of her treas- 


22 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


ures (except as a gift to her children) however 
incongruous and out of place they seemed in a 
modern bungalow. 

The old portraits were all in place. Grand¬ 
father Kirtley, splendidly regal, looked down 
benignly from the space above the mantel. It 
was not just the place for him, Mayre thought, 
eyeing him through her dreamy, half-closed eyes, 
but after all, he exactly fitted the space and it 
would be pleasant for Mother to look up at him 
when she toasted her dainty, slippered feet before 
his ancient andirons. 

“ Seems to me nothing could be more charming 
than this little place,’’ Caroline said, giving it a 
sweeping glance when all was settled. “ I should 
call it Paradise with that heavenly brook boasting 
its charms in the back yard and the flowers back¬ 
ing it up.” 

A servant had not yet been secured. Martha 
continued to give two days a week to cleaning and 
ironing, but both Mayre and Caroline loved to 
busy themselves in the blue-and-white kitchen 
with its tiled sink and freshly scrubbed tables and 
pantries. They loved to set the table on the little 
porch adjoining the dining room that overlooked 
a well-kept garden, bright with zinnias, petunias 


OLD MEMORIES 


23 


and four-o ’clocks. Money had stretched far 
enough to permit the cosiest breakfast set; a round 
table, to whose creamy surface Mayre had added 
stripes of delectable blue and old rose. The 
chairs matched, just four of them, — cunning little 
old-fashioned cane-seated chairs resurrected from 
the red-house attic and painted to correspond. 

The quaint china, banded with blue, gave the 
service an extra charm, and Doctor Ravenel 
scarcely ever sat down to breakfast or dinner 
without drawing a happy breath, remarking as he 
drank in the perfume of Mayre*s garden along 
with the pure, tangy Colorado air, “ I agree with 
Caroline; this is Paradise! ” 

The electric stove in the tiny kitchen was also 
an innovation. From its accommodating interior 
came cakes, and custards in wee brown bowls. 
Caroline even learned the mysteries of nut bread, 
and sweet Southern ham, sliced and baked in milk, 
— one of Maumy’s rare recipes. Came also the 
brownest of muffins and feathery white biscuits, 
and sometimes gingerbread that sent a fragrance 
through the house, even down the crooked path 
that led through a white wicket gate to the 
highway. 

The happiness of those early August days was 


24 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

t 

marred only by the thought of an early separation. 

“ But we shall be coming home every summer 
— that is, if we make enough money,’’ Caroline 
comforted, when the subject was under discussion. 
“ And of course we will. Mayre’s water colors 
are bound to take, they’re so fascinating; those 
bits of the sea and mountains. And as for me, 
why, before you know it, Major, you will be lead¬ 
ing Mother up to the Opera House (always so 
called) to see a play produced by the famous 
Caroline Ravenel. Ravenel: the old Virginia 
Ravenels! Great-granddaughter of the illustrious 
Captain Kirtley, also of Virginia.” 

Doctor Ravenel would smile, a bit sadly, Caro¬ 
line sometimes thought, and reply: 

“ Of course; you were bom to succeed, Caro¬ 
line. When a woman makes up her mind-” 

The sentence ended in a laugh. 

Mrs. Ravenel had not altogether approved of 
her daughters’ venture in New York. Her South¬ 
ern blood rather rebelled at the thought of pub¬ 
licity. Women belonged in homes. She had very 
little patience with the modern freedom given 
them. They wielded a greater power behind their 
husbands; and her dearest wish for Caroline and 
Mayre was a successful marriage. 



OLD MEMORIES 25 

The second week in August found Caroline 
restless. She took long walks; they were not far 
from one of the most beautiful canons. She sat 
by Mayre as she sketched and painted, listless 
and distraught. Sometimes Mayre turned to¬ 
ward her in surprise. 

“ Not low to-day, are you? What’s the mat¬ 
ter? Look at those lavender tints in old 
Cheyenne. Isn’t he superb? If I could only get 
those deep shadows without making them look like 
caves-’ ’ 

“ You are doing splendidly; I was just admiring 
your skill,” Caroline would remark, jumping up 
to send a pebble dashing against a young sapling, 
or to take a run up the mountainside; restless, 
moody, noncommittal; quite unlike herself, Mayre 
thought. 

She noticed it particularly on the morning of 
the fourteenth. It chanced to be Saturday and 
they were in the kitchen, storing up food against 
the morrow’s need. Caroline was clumsy. She 
dropped dishes, breaking one of the blue-lined 
plates that had weathered many a careless maid’s 
regime since Maumy’s departure. She flew from 
one thing to another, upsetting her mother’s fa¬ 
vorite fern that thrived in the east window; spilled 



26 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

a bottle of milk over Martha’s shining kitchen 
floor. 

“ Butterfingers! ” she cried, quite annoyed. 
“ What’s the matter with me? ” 

“ I am afraid you have been doing too much 
lately,” her mother said anxiously. “ Settling a 
house is a difficult and exacting task.” 

“ No, I am not tired,” she flung back, wander¬ 
ing into the living room to sink down on the com¬ 
fortable sofa, chin deep in hands. Magazines 
were substituted for books and both discarded; a 
half-hemmed napkin claimed her attention for 
awhile but sewing palled. Finally she rose, lifted 
her lithe young arms over her head and stretched 
comfortably. 

“ Think I’ll pack a few sandwiches and take a 
hike up the canon,” she said, turning toward the 
kitchen. 

“ I will go with you,” Mayre suggested. “ The 
baking is all done.” 

“ I’ll be stupid company, Mayre; better choose 
another day.” 

“ Meaning that you prefer to tramp alone.” 

“ Do you mind? ” 

“ Not in the least. Mother and I are going 
over to see Mrs. Ludlow for a minute late this 


OLD MEMORIES 


27 


afternoon. She and Jim got in yesterday, sooner 
than they were expected. Martha stopped there 
on her way out. Says Jim looks tine — hut thin. ’ ’ 

There was no reply, but an eager light replaced 
the boredom in Caroline’s eyes. 

“ She says he is stunning in his uniform. You 
know he got to be a Major or something; simply 
flew up the ranks.” 

“ Yes, he would, naturally.” 

“ He was always handsome,” Mayre went on. 

“ Not handsome, Mayre. I detest handsome 
men; just honestly good-looking — with an air 
perhaps.” 

“ That’s what Martha says.” 

“ Yes’m,” Martha interrupted, with the fa¬ 
miliarity of a faithful servant. “ Yes’m, he looks 
pow’ful highfalutin; lak he could jes blink a eye 
and folks’d square theirselves.” 

“ You say he is thin, Martha? ” This from 
Caroline. 

“ Yes’m, but not sickly, no’m. He ain’t 
changed none — ain’t got nary a scratch on him. 
Seem lak he got a sure nutf charm life, Miss Caro¬ 
line, all them big battles he done gone through 
over yander! ’ ’ 

Caroline rummaged through the icebox for cold 


28 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

ham and cheese, made a half-dozen sandwiches, 
adding a cake of sweet chocolate as she stuffed 
them into her sweater pocket. She had reached 

the front door when she came back. 

* 

“ Martha/’ she called, “ please don't forget to 
press the pleats in that white flannel sport skirt I 
left on the foot of my bed. I am going to need it 
to-morrow. ’' Then she was gone — out through 
the little white gate, swinging with her long 
steady stride into the carriage road that led to 
the canon. 

It was a perfect morning. Over the old Peak 
fleecy clouds drifted, snowy white against the deep 
blue sky. 

Caroline loitered leisurely, stopping now and 
then to watch a flight of birds or call to a saucy 
chipmunk that hurried across the road with his 
store of winter groceries. It was after she took 
the trail up the mountain that she hurried her 
gait. She could never wait for the view from 
the top. Its magnificence always, for a moment, 
took away her breath. 

To-day the atmosphere was particularly clear, 
the air so thin that the little village snuggling in 
the lap of the long blue range seemed miraculously 
near. Almost she could reach out and lay her 


OLD MEMORIES 


29 


hands on the church spire glittering in the sun¬ 
shine, count the peaked roofs that sheltered old 
neighbors, or the flat tops of business buildings. 

She sank down presently, clearing a spot of 
hard, sweet-scented pine cones. The sandy earth, 
warm and comfortable after her stiff climb, 
seemed a bed of ease as she stretched out, gazing 
up into the big, sapphire dome that, before her 
college days, she had always associated with 
heaven. 

A half-hour went by. The warmth, the music 
of the falls dashing over the near-by rocks lulled 
her into a half-doze. 

She sat up after a while and took her field glass 
from the leather case she had strapped across her 
shoulder. She could see the Abbey below. She 
liked its peaks and ells, though Mayre had 
thought, from the point of architecture, it was 
rather too churchy. At any rate there it stood, 
sheltered and protected by its vines and trees; 
snug, peaceful, homelike. 

Mayre, as usual, was puttering about the garden, 
weeding here, pruning there, loosening earth that 
too tightly bound her favorites. Mayre was a 
bom gardener. Caroline always thought of her 
with a trowel in hand, a broad, limp hat shading 


30 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


her eyes. How was Mayre going to stand the big 
city? New York with its swirl and hum and 
rumble; its underground and elevated nuisances. 
How — but of course there was her art. That 
counted for a great deal. She could work and 
study. They would both be so occupied. 

Mrs. Ravenel was on the veranda in her white 
morning gown, stitching on a tea cloth. She was 
always embroidering or marking linen. Some¬ 
times Caroline wondered how she could endure the 
monotony of those tiny stitches, through and back, 
through and back, the embroidery hoop endlessly 
turning. The very thought of it made her squirm 
and impatiently dig her toes in the soft loamy 
earth. She hated sewing. 

She had kept her glass persistently turned from 
a cottage a block or two away from the Abbey, 
but now, as if the impulse were almost beyond 
her control, leveled it and took a long, sweeping 
glance. 

“ I am glad he isn’t there,” she said, convincing 
herself that the place was quite deserted. “ It 
wouldn’t be fair — spying on him first. He said 
— to-morrow — the fifteenth. Jim! ” 

She breathed the word faintly, but a thrill of 
joy shot through her. Jim, alive and well. Home! 


OLD MEMORIES 31 

After all those terrible months in France. Here 
— here — only a stone’s throw away. 

The blood bounded to her cheeks and pounded 
at her temples; again a tremor went through her. 
It was not the first time that she had experienced 
that thrill. Years before, when she was eleven, 
he had brought her a dish of pink ice cream — this 
same Jim — and danced a two-step with her 
around the upper hall of the old red house. 

But Alison had claimed him in those days, until 
she went South and met Tevis McElroy, the rich 
young Virginian, and married him. That mar¬ 
riage, however, had witnessed the beginning of 
Jim’s friendship for her, — Caroline. She had 
felt so sorry for him. During the following sum¬ 
mer they had long strolls together, though she was 
but twelve and he eighteen. 

Then came a break; Jim left for college in the 
East. But letters came irregularly: funny little 
scrawls, sometimes with pictures, — drawings em¬ 
bellishing the corners; crude cartoons describing 
his conquests at football or shortcomings in other 
directions. 

There had been vacations, too. Times when 
they romped over the mesa on the backs of Pinto 
and Minto, the sturdy Ludlow ponies. The friend- 



32 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

ship ripened. There was always a mute under¬ 
standing. Caroline scarcely knew when it began, 
but she knew that Jim loved her, that he was 
only waiting for the day when he could say to her 
fairly and frankly, “ I have come for you, 
Caroline-’ ’ 

Yes, that was what he would say to-morrow 
when they kept the old tryst on the hilltop. They 
would welcome each other, shyly and decorously. 
They would gaze long and earnestly at each other, 
noting changes; then they would sit down on the 
broad flat boulder that had so often lured them 
in the sunshine; sometimes they had watched the 
sunset from its comfortable surface, side by side, 
each busy with dreams. Once, on a dare, she had 
slipped away at dawn and cantered to the spot 
with him to see the day break in golden splendor 
over the mountains. Could she ever forget that 
morning! No; not if she lived to be ninety. Jim 
in his smart riding togs, fresh from his morning 
plunge, his hair still damp under his sombrero. 
When the sun was well up they had dashed across 
the Garden of the Gods, stately and mystical in 
the early morning, the pines lending a tangy fra¬ 
grance to the sharp thin air. 

They had stopped for coffee and doughnuts in 



OLD MEMORIES 


33 


front of a stand in Maniton and watched the tour¬ 
ists start away* on diminutive donkeys for near-by 
hills and canons; watched the strange procession 
move, laughing at the stubborn antics of the 
burros, the happy cries of delighted kiddies as 
they urged and clucked, whistled and shrieked, 
beat at the lazy beasts with sticks and switches. 
And over all, the wonderful Colorado sky — a 
huge inverted bowl — so blue above their heads; 
the road home through the thickening dust-cloud 
rising between them and the sun like filtered gold. 

After a mad gallop of a mile or two, Pinto and 
Minto were allowed their own gait while she and 
Jim visited. Jim told of Princeton — the most 
beautiful campus in the world, he said, and she 
glimpsed its charms through his vivid descrip¬ 
tions. Sometimes they talked of her college days 
looming up in the distance. But she would go 
West — out over the mountains — to California. 
That was her dream. 

That day had come at last. She did go West, 
out to the Golden Gate, but when she came home, 
Jim, somehow, had changed. He had finished 
college, was engulfed in his profession, the law. 
Sometimes she caught fleeting glimpses of him at 
work in his office. He was never too busy to talk 


34 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


with her; he was always courteous, but no longer 
a playfellow. She stood a little in awe of his pro¬ 
fession. Often when he came to the house to call, 
he engaged the Major in conversation, forgetting 
her presence. He was alive, keen and ambitious. 
When they rode together there were long silences 
from which he would awaken with a smile, his 
brilliant, ravishing smile that lighted a new world 
within him. 

“ My, but you were a long time coming out of 
that,” she would complain with a frown that gave 
place to a laugh. “ I thought you were never 
going to speak again.” 

He would turn then and put a friendly hand on 
the pommel of her saddle. 

“ Air castles, Caroline. I was building the 
future-” 

‘ ‘ And leaving me* out- ’ 9 

“ No-” 

“ But you looked so serious, Jimmy.” 

His hand would slip* from the pommel then and 
rest upon her own for a moment with a little 
pressure that sent a wave singing to her heart. 
But that was all: the little squeeze, his smile, the 
unmistakable light in his eyes. 

Her first two years away at college had almost 





OLD MEMORIES 


35 


meant alienation. She had been so full of her 
own activities. And — there was Biddy Webster. 

Biddy Webster was a college idol. Caroline 
had enjoyed his attentions — Biddy was such a 
good sport — and Emma, his flaming red car that 
was so much a part of him. Biddy was hand¬ 
some. He danced well. He stood well. He was 
a splendid pal, sympathetic and understanding. 

A great deal of Biddy crept into Caroline’s 
letters home, especially to Jim. Such lines as, 
“ Went to the movies with Biddy this evening,” 
or “ Biddy and I danced at the Country Club,” or 
“ Biddy and I went on a long hike.” 

Sometimes the information, given Jim in large 
doses, was premeditated. She was paying him 
back for those old spells of indifference; those 
long evenings when he smoked with the Major and 
forgot her presence. There was a break once. 
He had asked her to write to him of herself,— 
things of general interest; Biddy with all his 
fascination palled a little, he said. 

When she came home for her second vacation, 
Jim was downright queer. He called occasionally 
and they sometimes took long rides in his little 
roadster, but they kept to topics of general inter¬ 
est, and, as of old, he lapsed often into moody 


36 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

silences. Sometimes she felt that the advent of 
Biddy in his big red car and his stay of a week 
added to those moods, though there were days 
when Jim was himself, bright and entertaining, 
sometimes startling her with a compliment. 

Then came her Junior year — and war! War, 
hideous and grim. Awful! 

Jim sailed for France before the United States 
became involved. But somehow, back of his gen¬ 
erous spirit of helpfulness, Caroline suspected an¬ 
other reason, and felt strangely responsible. For 
some time she had noticed a recklessness, a 
smothered “don’t care” attitude back of Jim’s 
smiling indifference. Once she felt sure he had 
come very near asking her if she were engaged to 
Biddy, but his self-respect and appreciation for 
another’s private affairs checked the words. 

And Caroline’s own heart became a treadmill of 
doubts and misunderstandings. Biddy was grow¬ 
ing ardent too, and when he went away to war, she 
wondered if her feeling for him were, perhaps, 
warmer than mere friendship. She rejoiced when 
he came back well and unscathed. They resumed 
their old, happy relations on the campus. She 
enjoyed him more and more. He was so kind and 
considerate. At the end of her Senior year, while 


OLD MEMORIES 


37 


she was visiting at his country home — a magnifi¬ 
cent ranch that would some day belong to him — 
he had asked her to marry him. 

She had put him off gently. She was not sure, 
though she liked him tremendously. She wanted 
time to think, for Jim’s broad shoulders had 
wedged themselves between them; Jim looked at 
her with pleading eyes. 

That was the situation to-day! Biddy, still 
loyal and ardent, awaiting her decision with pa¬ 
tient hopefulness; Jim returning to claim his old 
place in her affection. 

And between them, just as Jim had edged be¬ 
tween her and Biddy, rose the ghost of her old 
ambition, beckoning, urging, encouraging her. 
From the time she could walk that ghost had led 
her footsteps, flattering and beguiling her. Be¬ 
fore she was six she was staging plays on the old 
woodpile in the long triangular yard of her Vir¬ 
ginia home. In high school she had given promise 
of future success. College had brought dramatic 
honors. 

Could she give up her ambition for marriage? 
Marriage meant home and family. She wanted to 
be free. The thought made her dive into her 
sweater pocket for a letter Biddy had written. 


38 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


But you could write here at the ranch, Caroline. 
Where could you find better material, a more rest¬ 
ful, suitable environment? Father and Mother 
are turning over the place to me now; they want 
to travel for a few years, and if you will only de¬ 
cide, make me the happiest man in the Santa Clara 
valley by sharing it with me, I will promise you 
everything that devotion, even sacrifice can se¬ 
cure. I will build you a pergola down in the 
rose garden, the spot you said would be ideal for 
writing, and promise to leave you alone three 
fourths of the day, if the rest of the hours could 
be mine, mine alone. 

A vision of Biddy ’s beautiful home swept before 
her eyes. She could see the attractive house, the 
charming grounds, the Chinese servants pattering 
about quietly. 

She shook her head. 

“ It would never do,” she said aloud. “ I 
should be spoiled for any good work. Life would 
be too easy. I should dream, but never fulfill.” 

For hours she sat in the sylvan dell, fragrant 
with pines and mountain flowers. It was quite 
three o’clock when she thought of her lunch. A 
chill had crept over the place; shadows lay thick 
across the rocks and trail. She ate her sand¬ 
wiches slowly, dividing with the chipmunks that 
ventured almost within reach of her hand. The 


OLD MEMORIES 


39 


sun was sinking when she pulled herself together 
and started homeward. 

If the morning had been beautiful, the late aft¬ 
ernoon was doubly so. Although it was mid¬ 
summer, the trees, high up, had tasted the first 
frost; already many of the leaves were tipped with 
scarlet and gold. The creeks were full, rushing 
and roaring by; the air heavier than earlier in 
the day but full of the wood’s sweetness. She 
stopped once, scampering up a steep place to 
gather kinnikinick, thinking how she would miss 
its red berries at Christmas. She and Mayre had 
so loved to deck the old house with them. They 
toned up the faded rugs and pictures. She never 
failed when at home to wreathe a bit around the 
portrait of Great-aunt Caroline — she scarcely 
knew why — except that she liked to keep her 
memory bright. 

Dinner was on the table when she entered the 
house. Mayre was serving a generous steak and 
Martha trailed behind her with vegetables. The 
delicious odor of coffee floated in to her as she 
stopped in the bathroom (that separated her own 
room from Mayre’s) to wash and arrange her 
tumbled hair. 

As always, the table was inviting. Mrs. Ravenel 


40 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


sat at the head, investing it with dignity and 
charm. She was still in white, but she had thrown 
a pink chiffon shawl over her shoulders. The 
tint brought out the deeper color in her cheeks 
and her eyes reminded Caroline of the late after¬ 
noon sky. 

“ Did you make your call? ” Caroline asked 
casually, slipping into the place next to her father. 

“ Yes,” Mayre answered, “ and we almost 
missed Jim; but he came in later-” 

Mayre stopped to arrange the tray with the 
coffee cups that Martha was placing before her. 
She did not go on for a full minute. Caroline 
waited breathlessly. She did not wish to seem 
over-interested, but she could not resist, “ Oh, is 
that so? Was at his office, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, Mrs. Ludlow says he could scarcely wait 
until he opened it up.” 

“ He will have a lot to talk to you about, 
Major,” Caroline said, cutting into her steak 
hungrily. The sandwiches had not been alto¬ 
gether satisfying. 

“ I fancy he will have more to say to you, my 
dear.” 

Caroline’s brown cheeks crimsoned. 

“ To me? ” 


i 



OLD MEMORIES 


41 


Mayre laughed. 

“ Oh, Caroline, don’t pretend. You know Jim 
has always been more interested in you than any 
of us.” 

“ I suppose he didn’t ask for me? ” 

“ He asked how we all were — you included, of 
course. Mrs. Ludlow felt quite slighted that you 
didn’t come with us. Especially when we told 
her you had gone off tramping. Why don’t you 
run over for a minute this evening? ” 

“ I am very tired,” Caroline answered, hoping 
the conversation would continue, yet not wishing 
to pursue the subject of Jim’s return. 

She helped Mayre with the dishes, for Martha’s 
day was over, but Mayre was unusually silent. 
Once she spoke of Mrs. Ludlow: she was looking 
well; had visited Leigh for a few days in New 
York (Leigh had married her nephew) and found 
her well and happy. Blair was dong splendidly 
in his father’s business. It was good to have 
direct news. 

“ And Jim,” Caroline managed to venture dur¬ 
ing one of the long silences, broken only by the 
clatter of Mayre’s clean dishes as they were laid 
with precision in the rinsing pan, and the tick-tock 
of old Mr. Time, who had been placed between the 


42 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

east windows. “ Is he really quite well? Isn’t he 
going to feel the effects of that awful gassing? ” 

“ Not a bit! It is most extraordinary. Mrs. 
Ludlow says he had a marvelous nurse in the hos¬ 
pital where he was convalescing — a young French 
matron who had been widowed by the war and had 
given her life to the sick and wounded; she was 
perfectly devoted to Jim.” 

There was another silence. Caroline finished 
the last dish, hung the drying towel on the nail by 
the kitchen door, put a cloth over Bobby’s cage — 
Mayre’s fluffy yellow canary that hung in the bay 
window (Caroline loved that sunny window; it was 
so unusual in a kitchen)—brushed the porch, 
straightened papers and magazines that had been 
left on the swing, and went into the living room. 

Doctor Ravenel’s cigar was already aglow. He 
had pulled his easy-chair under the light and his 
paper lay spread upon his knees. Mrs. Ravenel 
was sitting near, a book open in her lap. Chow, 
the privileged Airedale, was stretched across the 
hearth rug, blinking into a lazy fire. August 
nights in the country are chilly in Colorado. 

Mayre had thrown herself down upon the sofa, 
her arms under her head; her dreamy eyes, as 
usual, half-closed in thought. 


OLD MEMORIES 


43 


Caroline took a sweeping glance. 

“ You all look mighty comfy,’’ she said, and 
taking a late novel from the table, went into her 
own room. 


CHAPTER III 


SEPTEMBER THE FIFTEENTH 

S HE heard him coming long before she caught 
sight of him. Pinto’s hoofs ringing over the 
hard white road had roused her from the absorb¬ 
ing view in the west. Her back was turned to the 
road but she rose and faced it at the old familiar 
sound, her trembling hands clasped before her. 

Nearer and nearer came the clatter of Pinto’s 
hastened trot and the next minute the bend in the 
road had been turned and Jim’s erect form, al¬ 
ways at its best in the saddle, appeared in view. 

Caroline tried to step forward, but her limbs 
refused to move. Her heart raced madly; the 
russet hue that always dyed her cheeks in any 
excitement spread to her throat; it flushed her 
whole being. Jim, so near her, after those 
anguishing days in France! Days of endless 
waiting! 

He was beside her at last, giving Pinto the 
reins to wander at his will. Caroline moved for¬ 
ward a step, and then- 



SEPTEMBER THE FIFTEENTH 45 

She could never remember clearly what hap¬ 
pened after that. She only heard his low, 
“ Gypsy, Gypsy! ” and felt his arms around her. 
Then his lips on hers. Appalled at her own emo¬ 
tion, she pushed away from him, looking up with 
tears in her eyes, half ashamed, wholly glad. 

But he had taken her hands, both of them, in 
his strong brown ones (she had expected to see 
them pale and thin after his long illness) and was 
looking at her, his face aflame with happiness, his 
eyes warm and moist. 

“ So, so you are home again, Jim,” she man¬ 
aged to stammer. “ Home! Doesn’t the word 
sound good to you? ” She tried to lead him to 
the rock but he did not move. 

“ Please,” he begged, “ stand there just a min¬ 
ute until I prove to myself that I am not dreaming. 
So many times I have seen you here — in that 
dress. You did wear it for me.” 

Her old, care-free laugh bubbled. 

“ If you had written a day later the rummage 
sale would have claimed it. It’s disgracefully 
old, Jim.” 

But he was not looking at the dress. He was 
examining her hand, the left one, and when he 


46 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

found it free of ring he stooped and left a kiss 
upon it. 

She struggled to free it from him, self-conscious 
and a bit miserable. 

“ Your trip,” she said, leading him to the stone 
where they so often sat. “ I can scarcely wait to 
hear about it — and my messages from Madame 
Wakefield.” 

But he was in no mood for messages and when 
his arm went round her she shrank a little away 
from him, though the hurt look in his eyes cut her 
to the heart. 

“ Jim — you mustn’t. Please, Jim!” Her 
face was almost pathetic in her helplessness. 

“ Why, Caroline? Surely it is all right now. 
I have waited so long. ’’ 

u I know, Jim — but-” 

He looked down at her, half-frightened, his face 
paling a little under its coat of tan. 

“ What do you mean, Caroline? ” 

44 Just what do you mean, Jim? ” 

“ You know, Gypsy, I want you to marry me. 
At once. To-morrow. Why not? You are through 
college. That was the only barrier, wasn’t it? 
You were so keen for an education.” 



SEPTEMBER THE FIFTEENTH 47 

He lifted her chin and made her look up at 
him. 

“ There are other reasons, Jim.” 

He took a quick breath. His whole expression 
changed. 

“ What possible reasons? ” 

“ I am going away — East.” 

“ What for? ” 

“ To earn my living.” 

“ But why should you earn your living when I 
am here to do it for you? ” 

She could not speak for a moment. She was 
trying to find an easy way to tell him of her am¬ 
bition. Presently she looked up. He was still 
gazing at her, with eyes a bit bemused. 

“ You see, Jim-” 

She stopped. It was going to be hard any way 
she put it. His eyes were laughing at her now. 

“ I believe in the economic independence of my 
sex.” 

“ I see. Woman stuff! ” 

“ Call it what you like.” 

“ You are a feminist, then? ” 

“I — I believe in- 9 9 

“ Women’s rights? ” The smile had changed 
to an indulgent laugh. 




48 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 

“ Perhaps — at any rate, the right to make an 
honest living; to exploit my talent.” 

“ But you could do that here. You could write 
at home, if that’s what you mean. I think I could 
manage a maid in our little home.” 

His voice dropped, softened on the last word. 

“ But you don’t seem to understand, Jim. 
Writing is — is different from most things. One 
has to live, to create. I must travel and know 
people — lots of them — their experiences-” 

He still was indulgent. “We shall travel, 
Gypsy, some day. Just now I hate the word — 
after that awful hell over there.” 

“ Oh, Jimmy, I know. Don’t think about it; let 
us get it out of your mind.” 

He shook his head sadly. “ It has gone too 
deep.” 

She tried to cheer him, running on almost gar¬ 
rulously about their mutual friends, college, any¬ 
thing to take the sadness out of his eyes. But he 
went back. 

4 ‘ Say in six months then, Caroline. I would be 
willing to wait that long while you visited Alison 
and Leigh.” 

‘‘ But I am not visiting Alison and Leigh — ex¬ 
cept for a short time. I’m setting up a studio in 



SEPTEMBER THE FIFTEENTH 49 

New York with Mayre. She’s going to paint and 
I am going to write plays.” 

The hand that lay on hers gripped tighter. 
“ No, no, Caroline.” 

“ Yes, Jimmy.” 

“ But you mustn’t. I can’t let you.” 

“ I fear — you will have to.” 

He looked at her in amazement. But his eyes 
grew tender. 

‘ ‘ I think that it is you who cannot understand, ’ ’ 
he said slowly; “ if you only knew how I have 
thought of you, yearned for you — prayed, 
Gypsy; prayed that the good God, wherever He 
is, would spare me to you — and you to me. How 
I have worshipped you, for so long; way back 
when you were a little girl. It began that night, I 
think, when you were eleven — when we danced 
together in the hall — you remember. I carried a 
picture of you away to college. It used to stand 
in a little frame on my chiffonier by Mother’s. 
Fellows ragged me about it — you were such an 
infant. But I used to talk to it, Gypsy. I used to 
say, * I must keep straight and clean for you.’ 
You always looked at me so frankly with those 
sunny eyes. Sometimes I could see them glowing 
in the dark. Sometimes they grew big and black 



50 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

and tender. Sometimes they smiled — sometimes 
they rebuked me. 

“ And then-” His voice had broken, but it 

went on, 44 then you went away to college, and 
for awhile I thought that I had lost you — thought 
you loved some one else and I left for war not 
caring much what happened- 9 ’ 

44 Jimmy! ” 

44 Life meant nothing to me without you. It 
doesn’t now — it never will. Perhaps-” 

44 Jim, stop. I can’t bear it! ” 

Her head had gone down in her hands. He 
lifted it gently. 

44 You do care, Gypsy — you do. Say you do.” 

44 I — I — oh, Jimmy, don’t ask me, please. I 
don’t know.” 

She could not look at him. When she turned 
his face was buried in his hands. She got up and 
walked a little way from him, her hands pressed 
hard together, tears rolling down her cheeks. 
Presently she came back. 

44 Jim,” she said, gently slipping an arm 
through his, 4 4 would it help any if I told you that 
I think more of you than of anybody else? ” 

He turned quickly. 44 Then it’s just a whim — 
this going away ? ’ ’ 





SEPTEMBER THE FIFTEENTH 51 


She straightened a little, moving farther from 
him. 

“ No, Jimmy, not a whim. I fear it is much 
more than that. It is — my life. ?, 

“ But you said you cared-” 

“ I do-” 

“ But your work comes first? ” 

i( For the time — yes.” 

He seemed dazed. He looked at her with un¬ 
comprehending eyes. How could the exploitation 
of a talent mean more than love? 

“ You see ”— she had gotten her balance now 
— “ you see, I am so young, Jim, only twenty- 
two, and life is all before me. I want to do some¬ 
thing — something worth while. I want to be free 
to do it my own way. If I should marry, there 
would be responsibilities.” 

“ Then it is only time you want? 99 His voice 
was eager. 

She knew the question was coming, and tried to 
ward it off. 

“ It’s going to take years, Jim. It would not 
be fair to you to wait. You are older than I — 
nearly seven years, though I never feel the differ¬ 
ence. You are ready to settle down.” 

She turned to look in his fine, clean-cut face. 




52 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


He was in the first flush of his youth. A man, as 
old Martha had said, anybody would “ square 
theirself before.’’ He was commanding; there 
was a dominant note about him, wholly masculine. 

“You will not even consent to an engagement? ” 

He was sure of her again and she hated herself 
for not being fair. She wanted to say, “ Jim, I 
think I love you, but I am not altogether sure; 
there is Biddy — he, too, is waiting.” 

But she could not. He was just home from his 
horrible experiences abroad. He was tasting the 
first happiness that he had known in two years. 
She couldn’t; she had not the courage. 

Silence grew between them. Jim sat staring 
oft into the west, his brows in a puzzled frown. 
Now and then she looked at him, shy glances of 
which he seemed unaware. She had walked from 
home, carrying a white parasol. Now she dug its 
ivory tip into the damp, sandy earth making little 
piles of dirt around her white shoes. A scattering 
clod fell upon them. Jim drew a spotless hand¬ 
kerchief from his pocket and brushed the sand off. 

She yearned to speak to him, to reach out and 
lay her hand in his, but something had come be¬ 
tween them. 

He put the handkerchief in his pocket, pulling 


SEPTEMBER THE FIFTEENTH 53 

it out again to transfer it higher up in his coat. 
Something came with it; a tiny satin box. It fell 
at Caroline’s feet. She picked it up. Her fum¬ 
bling made the spring open. A solitaire sparkled 
in the sunshine. Her eyes swam with tears. She 
closed the box and handed it back to him. He 
dropped it in his pocket carelessly. 

“ Jim — oh, if you only knew how I hate to hurt 
you. And just now. Now, when you ought to be 
happy! ” 

He was silent again. For a long time he did 
not speak. They both sat looking off into the 
west. 

“ It’s a great old world,” he said finally, with 
a sigh. “ There was a chap with me on the other 
side; splendid fellow. We managed to keep to¬ 
gether until-” A shudder passed over him. 

“ He had a girl over here somewhere — in Boston. 
A peach, from the picture he carried with him. 
He was crazy about her, and she must have been 
about him from the way she wrote. Bucked him 
up all the time. Regular sport. He was mad to 
get back. They were going to be married. Had 
a little place picked out in some suburb. Hing- 
ham, I think it was; yes, Hingham. He used to 



54 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


laugh at the name and tell me how its beauty belied 
it. Poor Elliott.” 

For a moment he could not go on. 

44 She used to send him candy and smokes and 
the dandiest sweaters, big warm, cozy fellows; 
and socks by the ream. She was some knitter.” 

The parasol had ceased its wild motions. Caro¬ 
line sat straight and silent. 

44 He used to tell me how capable she was — 
nights out in the trenches while we waited for a 
Boche — Pardon me; I promised never to hurt 
you with those details.” 

44 Go on, please.” The words were so low he 
could scarcely hear them. 

44 It seems she was just the plain domestic type; 
a home-maker. She hadn’t any talents.” 

There w T as a deathly silence. 

4 4 And — and he didn’t get back ? ’ ’ 

44 He’s asleep over there — in Flanders. Queer, 
isn’t it? — and I — I’m here-’’ 

44 Jim! ” 

44 Here — and you don’t need me — want me.” 

He rose wearily and looked about for Pinto. 
44 You walked? ” he asked. 44 Well — Pinto must 
have known. He’s gone home.” 

She picked up her hat where it had fallen on 



SEPTEMBER THE FIFTEENTH 55 

the ground, carrying it in her hand as she fell into 
step beside him. 

There was scarcely a word spoken on the long 
tramp home. In town she found her car and 
asked him to ride with her. 

“ Not to-night,’’ he said, almost brusquely, 
“ Some other time.” 

“ You will come to see me? n 

‘ 4 If you wish . 9 ’ 

“ If I wish! 99 

“ It really can’t matter much, Gypsy.” 

She could see that hope in him was dead. Lines 
that she had not noticed in his face before came 
out and mocked at her. There were shadows be¬ 
neath his eyes. He seemed tired — lifeless. She 
wondered if his mother would notice, and hate her 
for it. She had always loved Mrs. Ludlow. 

They parted in front of his office. She looked 
back after he had put her in the car and watched 
him climb the stairs that led to the rooms above. 
For the first time since she had known him his 
shoulders drooped. A sob caught her throat. She 
threw in the clutch and the car plunged forward. 

Jim was home; Jim, her old loving Jim. He 
had asked bread of her — and she had given him a 
stone. 


56 


CAROLINE'S CAREER 


It was late when she opened the Abbey door. 
The family had long since retired. She heard her 
mother’s voice as she passed her room. 

“ Why are you so late, darling? ” 

“ I was driving, Mother; good night.” 

She paused at her own door, dreading the next 
question. But it did not come, so she entered 
quickly, slipping the bolt behind her. 


CHAPTER IV 


ADJUSTMENTS 



WEEK went by. Once Caroline passed Jim 


il in the little wooded lane that ran toward his 
mother’s cottage. He stopped and parted the 
trees that intruded their branches into the path¬ 
way. He was still in uniform, tall and upstand¬ 
ing, every inch a soldier Caroline thought, as she 
glanced up at him. 

“ Getting fit and rested? ” she asked, stopping 
in the path, and he turned and walked beside her. 

It was Sunday afternoon and she knew that he 
was free, yet he hastened his steps. 

6 * Yes; back in harness again. ’’ He had a sheaf 
of paper under his arm, a formidable-looking 
bundle. 

“ You are not working to-day? ” 

“ All days are the same to me.” 

“ Couldn’t you leave those papers at home and 
come for a walk? We might get to the Falls if we 
hurried.” 


58 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

It was a favorite haunt. His eyes hungered for 
it. 

“ I haven’t been up yet,” he said. “ I suppose 
the canon hasn’t changed any? ” 

“ Not to speak of. I reckon nothing will ever 
change old Cheyenne hut an earthquake. Will you 
come? ” 

They had gone halfway before the conversation 
became easy and general. Caroline, the more 
adaptable, was blithe and gay. 

Now and then, from the corner of his eye, Jim 
watched her. She was beautiful beyond his 
dreams; slender, graceful, with the languorous 
charm of the South in form and speech. As of 
old, her musical voice fell caressingly upon his 
ears. Her prettily drawled “ Mothah ” and 
‘ ‘ Sistah 9 ’ still entranced him. 

Sometimes she looked up at him with luminous 
hazel eyes. When she became animated the dark 
spots in the iris grew and spread (Mayre always 
called those spots coffee grounds), giving them an 
appealing softness. 

“ You haven’t given me Madame’s messages 
yet,” she reminded. 

Years before, when Caroline was just verging 
into girlhood, Madame Wakefield, an English 


ADJUSTMENTS 


59 


woman of large means, had taken a house opposite 
the old red one that headed the avenue. With her 
came her nephew, as secretary and companion in 
her travels. Madame remained in the house for 
two years. 

Although she was very friendly with all the 
family, Caroline was her especial favorite. They 
spent many happy hours together and had kept up 
a rather desultory correspondence since her return 
to England. 

Caroline could never quite account for the 
friendship, there was such disparity in their ages, 
except that there was something in Madame 
Wakefield’s habits and disposition that corre¬ 
sponded to those of her own family. One might 
almost have thought her a Southern woman. 

“ I always feel so close to her,” Caroline went 
on, finding a seat near the Falls, and Jimmy 
dropped down beside her. “ As if I had known 
her before — somewhere on another planet,” she 
ended, with a laugh. “ I think old Maumy felt 
the same way. She used to make such a fuss when 
Madame came to see us, getting into her best bib 
and tucker and spreading the finest china. I al¬ 
ways meant to ask her whom Madame reminded 
her of, but I never seemed to do it. Maumy’s old 


60 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 

eyes could pierce eternity; or at least I used to 
think so, when I raided her cooky jar. She 
couldn’t count to a hundred, Maumy couldn’t, but 
she knew if a single cooky escaped.” 

“ Where is Maumy now? ” 

Caroline’s eyes grew tender. 

“ Poor old dear,” she said softly; “ she’s gone 
home, back to Virginia. She wore out taking care 
of all of us. But she loved it. We were her 
children. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Maumy was a great institution. I remember 
those cookies, too, and the muffins she used to serve 
on the veranda with afternoon tea.” 

“ Maumy adored you. She used to say to me, 

‘ Now don’t you get too pertinacious with Mr. 
Jimmy, Miss Car’line — you ain’t gwine find his 
like-” 

She stopped suddenly. In her enthusiasm for 
Maumy’s loyalty she had stumbled on dangerous 
ground. Jimmy was silent. He evidently had no 
intention of referring to the talk on the Mesa. 

The conversation reverted to Madame. Jim 
had found her sadly changed. 

“ Remember how stout she used to be? ” he 
asked. “ We were quite shocked to find her little, 
old, and almost wizened.” 



ADJUSTMENTS 61 

“ Oh, I am so sorry! I suppose her lovely, red¬ 
apple cheeks were faded, too.” 

4 ‘ Quite. I fancy the death of her nephew was 
a great shock.” 

Caroline felt that the visit had been far from 
satisfactory as they wandered home in the early 
dusk. Jim had been unusually dull. He seemed 
very tired and often depressed. She remembered 
that Biddy had looked and acted much the same 
when he returned from overseas, but that thought 
did not comfort her. She was responsible for the 
dark shadows that lay beneath Jim’s clear gray 
eyes, for their changed expression. The thought 
tortured her. If she had only been less honest; 
deferred her news that day on the hilltop until 
he had rejoiced a little in his homecoming. But 
she could never dissemble, never hold back any¬ 
thing. The truth always jumped from her; her 
opinions were always on the tip of her tongue; 
always leading her into deep water. 

“ If being temperamental gives one the ability 
to do things — write or act or sing — then I think 
nature takes an awful toll,” she said once to her 
father when she had been particularly trying. 
‘ ‘ There’s something in me at time that commands 
me — makes me say and do things I never in the 


62 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


least intended saying or doing. All those devilish 
little tricks I used to have when I was a child — 
they didn’t really come from me — they were that 
other person in me.” 

That other person in her was openly rebellious 
now as she walked beside Jim, looking up at the 
stars, stumbling a little, her head held high. They 
stopped at the gate of the Abbey. 

“ Of course you are coming in for tea,” she 
said, her eyes pleading a little. “ We can’t give 
you Maumy’s muffins and coffee, but I have a 
pretty good imitation.’ ’ 

“ Not to-night, thank you,” he answered, pull¬ 
ing hidden papers from his pocket. “ These 
briefs will keep me busy until midnight.” 

“ Then you need coffee. And you really haven’t 
been a bit nice to Major and Mother.” 

“I can’t talk to people just yet, Caroline; 
please don’t ask me. Your father will under¬ 
stand, I am sure.” 

Biddy had said the same thing. He was so 
desperately afraid people would ask harrowing 
questions, bring up things that he wanted to 
forget. 

“ All right, I won’t insist. But you will come 
soon? I shall be leaving early in September.” 


ADJUSTMENTS 


63 


She thought, although it was almost too dark 
for her to see, that his expression changed at the 
news, but he said calmly: 

“ You have set the day, then? ” 

“ Yes; about the first week in September, or 
thereabouts. We want to get well settled before 
the holidays. There will be a market then for 
May re’s pictures.” 

“ And your plays? ” He was politely interested. 

“ Oh, my plays are germinating here.” She 
laid her hand on her dark hair. “ In my head. 
Plays are funny things; they come from the out¬ 
side — then work out again after they have 
sprouted, so to speak.” 

It was late that same evening when she took her 
little gray correspondence case in by the living- 
room fire (the family had retired) and sitting 
down on the hearth rug with her writing materials 
in her lap, penned this note to Biddy: 

I have been thinking a great deal about you for 
the past week, and all that our friendship has 
meant to me, but I fear it must be just friendship 
— nothing more. I shall never forget the good 
times that we have had together on our beloved 
campus, and elsewhere; our old haunts and drives 
with Emma; my visit to your lovely home. But 
Biddy, it must end there. I am not ready to 


64 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


think of marriage. I am going East shortly to 
pursue the career fate mapped out for me almost 
before I could speak. I could never be happy in 
any environment that would lessen my interest in 
work; my especial kind of work, and I am sending 
this note as a sort of good-by. I hope that you 
will not altogether forget me, and that sometime I 
shall see you again, if only to talk over those old 
days so dear to both of us. I hope that I have not 
hurt you too deeply. I have tried to be fair from 
the beginning. 

When she had sealed the letter and dropped it 
in the mail box on the veranda for the morrow’s 
post, she went directly to bed — and to sleep — 
feeling that at last she had burned her bridges 
behind her. 

She found a week later that she had not. 
Biddy’s letter, answered by return mail, showed a 
dauntless spirit. Among other things he said: 

I am quite willing to wait and see how this 
career works out. I have heard of them before. 
Sometimes they are not just what they promise. 
Don’t think for a minute th^t any little old writing 
job can compete with my love and the protection 
I can give you. I shall write to you regularly and 
expect at least an occasional letter — you were al¬ 
ways polite, Caroline, so you could not refuse to 
reward my constancy. Furthermore, I shall be 
in New York during the winter, and we will have 


ADJUSTMENTS 65 

time to discuss this question so near to my heart, 
ad libitum. 

Caroline sighed as she folded the letter and re¬ 
turned it to its envelope, but there was a glow 
about her heart as she washed the morning dishes, 
swept the tiny kitchen floor and gave Bobby an 
extra leaf of crisp green lettuce. 

Although she didn’t wish to marry Biddy and 
she was confirmed in the belief that she never 
would, still she loved his sunny optimism, his un¬ 
swerving loyalty. Who would not? 


CHAPTER V 


CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 

D ON’T you really think,” Caroline said to 
Havre one September morning, as they 
were putting the living room in order, “ that we 
ought to have a party before we leave for the 
East? A real old-fashioned one; all the high 
school crowd; Ned Adams and Scotty Ran- 
dolf-” 

“ Punny Matthews too, perhaps! ” Mayre’s 
mouth dimpled in a smile. 

“ Yes, even good old Pun — if he would come. 
I offended him so outrageously that time I put on 
mourning to receive him.” A laugh finished the 
sentence. 

“ That was a shabby trick, Caroline. Mother 
never quite forgave you; it wasn’t in keeping with 
your Kirtley inheritance.” 

4 ‘ Maybe not, but the boys said — heaven only 
knows how they heard about it — that it knocked 
the pun out of Punny. He’s been as meek as 



CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 67 

Moses ever since. Scarely speaks to me, however. 
You would have to do the asking.” 

“ I don’t mind. Of whom else had you 
thought? ” 

“ Oh, most of the old class. It would be such 
fun to pop com and make molasses candy and sing 
‘ The Gang’s All Here! ’ ” 

11 Candy is so sticky; it gets over everything. 

And now that we have no maid-” 

“ That’s so. Well, we could dance — and play 
charades and hang Japanese lanterns all over the 
veranda and garden. We must be sure to ask 
Herman Holt and Fred Everstron.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, Caroline! They wouldn’t fit at all! ” 

“ Fit? What do you mean? ” 

“ Why, they don’t go in the same set with Ned 
and Scotty. Can’t you see Muriel Roach snubbing 
them? ” 

“ Muriel Roach! Who’s she? A klepto¬ 
maniac-” 

“ Caroline! ” 

“ Which I have always thought was a polite title 
for a thief-” 

“ My dear! ” Mayre’s sensitive face was a 
study. ‘ ‘ How can you say such things! ’ ’ 

“ It’s perfectly true. She took a handkerchief 





68 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


of mine once — at that party Alison had, the time 

I broke my nose. Stuffed it in her blouse as non¬ 
chalantly as if it were being presented to her. I 
watched her from the hall above. ” 

“ Perhaps she thought it belonged to her. ,, 

“ I thought that too — until she began taking 
pencils and erasers from my desk at school, and 
writing her name in the books I lent her. You 
remember the locker episode at High. It was 
hushed, of course. The Roaches are rich.” 

Caroline opened the French door that led to the 
veranda, gave her dust cloth a shake and turned 
with a frown. 

“ It makes me so angry,’’ she announced. 

II Money is just a varnish — like we used to put 
on the stairs at home. Didn’t quite cover up the 
yellow underneath. It always cropped out; espe¬ 
cially if we were entertaining. ’ ’ 

11 Perhaps then we had best not have Muriel.” 

“ Of course we’ll have her. We’ll have every¬ 
body! ” 

“ But you don’t like her. You’re saying such 
dreadful things about her. ’ ’ 

Caroline sat down on the piano stool and looked 
at her sister sympathetically. 

“ I’m talking to you, Mayre, not to the public. 


CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 69 

4 In de bos’m of my fambly,’ as Maumy used to 
say. I have found since I have been at college 
that you can’t judge people altogether by their 
faults. You Ve got to hang their virtues up along¬ 
side and strike a balance. You must be fair. You 
can’t condemn Fred Everstron for being deaf and 
dumb, Hans Holt for poverty, and condone 
Muriel’s snobbishness. Her shortcomings must 
go in the discard, too — even as yours and mine.” 

“ You are the queerest girl I ever saw, Caroline. 
I can’t understand you sometimes. You are veer¬ 
ing right around.” 

“ Do you remember the time that Hope went,” 
Caroline asked, ‘ ‘ that awful week — and Muriel 
— how dear she was? Hope wouldn’t taste any¬ 
body’s soup but hers. And those perfect cus¬ 
tards — and the doll she brought — it was the last 
thing Hope ever played with. That was the tine 
side, don’t you see — can’t you understand? 
That’s why we must ask her and forget the other. 
Of course you think I’m inconsistent. I am; 
everybody is, more or less.” 

An hour later Caroline was swinging along the 
country road on her way to visit her old college 
chum, Betty Carew, who had married Stanley 


70 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


Warren, a young physician, and settled within a 
ten minutes’ walk of the Abbey. 

Her mind was busy as she walked, but not too 
occupied to enjoy the rustle of the leaves cast by 
the cottonwoods beneath her feet. The list of 
guests was tucked in her sweater pocket. Now 
and then she brought it out, and using a silver 
pencil attached to a chain about her neck, added 
a new name. 

“ Mickey Ferren,” she said aloud. “ Good¬ 
ness, I wouldn’t have forgotten him for worlds! 
Mickey taught me to swim. Haven’t seen him for 
ages. How he used to duck me; but I got the 
stroke, thank you, Mick — Australian crawl and 
all. And Sam Hunt. Mercy! ” A high-school 
party without Sam was like a dinner without des¬ 
sert. Sam always furnished the stunts. She 
must call him up and tell him to come prepared. 

There was Kathleen Briggs, too, her erstwhile 
companion. How could she have forgotten her! 
Kathleen was married now, living up on the ave¬ 
nue near the old red house, quite fine in her 
shingled cottage, her family’s wedding gift. But 
no doubt she would come and bring her youthful 
red-headed husband who blushed like a rose when 
any one spoke to him. 


CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 71 

And there was Herman Holt, the awkward, 
green German boy who always kept back of the 
crowd (so Caroline thought) to hide the bold 
patches on his trousers. Herman Holt, the most 
talented boy in the class, w T hose sketches came to 
life as you looked at them. Several had found the 
way to Caroline’s memory book; one of herself 
just after Mickey Ferren had ducked her. It was 
a clever caricature: Caroline exuding water. It 
trickled from her cap, her face, her shoulders; it 
ran in rivulets from her bathing skirt; but fun¬ 
niest of all was her expression, frightened and 
appealing. It made her laugh now to think of it. 
She wondered how Herman was getting on. It 
would be fun to take him out in the garden away 
from the others at the party and hear all about 
his work. Some day Herman would bring that old 
Junior class, stupid and critical, into the lime¬ 
light. People would be saying, “ He got his first 
training at Old High at the Springs. Royle always 
said he was a genius — the class ought to honor 
him in some way.” It was always so. Life had 
a queer way of cutting corners, taking a crooked 
path to fame. Some day Herman’s patches would 
be spoken of lovingly. The boys who shunned 
him would say proudly , i 6 Little old Herman Holt! 


72 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Always was a nice chap. We were great pals 
back at old High! Must look him up and talk over 
the old days, when I take that little trip across the 
pond! They say he’s exhibiting in Paris, now.” 

She walked a little farther and came to a sud¬ 
den stop. She had forgotten Neal Perkins. How 
inexcusably stupid! Neal had taken her to the 
High dances all during her Junior year. Made 
her the envy of half the girls in the class. And 
his wife: little Kitty Tempest whose admiration 
had outrun her judgment. The town still talked 
of that runaway match; of poor Neal’s career 
nipped in the bud by Kitty’s wiles and smiles. 
Hadn’t she heard somewhere that Neal was going 
on with his law up at the college; that his father 
had forgiven his mad escapade and was saving a 
berth in his own office against the day of 
graduation? 

She was smiling as she turned in at Betty’s 
attractive stone gate and looked up at the rather 
pretentious red brick house just beginning to 
shelter German ivy and creeping roses. Betty 
had made her girlhood threat good: “ If ever I 
have a home, it will be large enough to house all 
my friends — and then some.” 

Betty was in the sun parlor giving Stanley 


CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 73 

junior his morning scrub. She had wheeled the 
tea wagon in from the dining room and the tub, 
fragrant and foamy with suds, was perched upon 
it. Caroline, as much at home in the house as 
Betty herself, paused in the doorway and laughed. 

“ That’s a new idea in serving, Betty. I take 
my hat off to your originality.’ ’ 

Betty turned from Stanley’s pink ears and, 
dropping the sponge in the water, blew a soapy 
kiss in her friend’s direction. 

“ Thanks,” she answered, fishing for the soap 
and attacking her son’s sturdy back. “ I said 
to Stan this morning that I never dreamed when 
I bought this cart that I’d be serving baths de 
luxe instead of tea. You never know what you’re 
coming to, Cal dear. Sonny, throw a kiss to your 
godmother. Tell her that I don’t always bathe 
you in the parlor — or next door, but you splash 
so. Isn’t he wonderful, Cal? He adores this 
sunlight.” 

Caroline, going around to the other side of the 
tub, picked up a soft wash cloth and applied it to 
Stanley’s chubby hands. 

“ He is adorable. And so strong and well.” 

“ Humph! Look who his father is,” Betty re¬ 
minded proudly. “ Wouldn’t you expect the best 


74 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


baby specialist in America to have a hundred per 
cent infant? Come here, you young rascal! I 
haven’t time to laugh at your antics. I’m going 
to dry you and turn you over to Carry this in¬ 
stant. Your Aunty Cal has something on her 
mind. I know the symptoms.” 

u Oh, please don’t send him off. I haven’t 
seen him for two whole days.” 

Betty looked at her small jeweled wrist watch. 
“ ’Fraid he’s got to nap, dear. Sorry, but you 
know his terrible, autocratic father. If I should 
run ten minutes over feeding time he would know. 
Don’t marry a doctor, Cal. Not if you expect 
to rear a family. You get to be a regular old 
machine that sterilizes bottles and measures food 
and sleep and-” 

“ You look badgered, Betty. I am so sorry for 
you.” 

Betty bundled the infant in a pink blanket and 
handed him over to the nurse. “ Watch him, 
please, Carry, until he has taken all his milk. 

Doctor Warren is so afraid of his choking-” 

“ To say nothing of his mother-” 

“ Oh, his mother simply follows directions. 
Bye-bye, precious. Be nice with Carry, won’t 
you? ” 





CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 75 

The child went off without a murmur, his sunny 
face peeking mischievously from beneath the folds 
of the soft coverlet. 

“ Did I tell you, Cal, he has a tooth? ” Betty 
said, pulling up a chair. “ Mind sitting here? 
Hannah will clear away in a few minutes. Yes; 
the darlingest little pearl — upstairs.” 

Caroline seemed a bit bewildered. 

“ Upstairs? ” she repeated. 

46 Upper jaw; really quite unusual, so Stan 
says. They nearly always come below first. But 
Junior is going to be original. We saw it from 
the moment he came. For instance, he never 
sucks the thumb on his right hand — it’s always 
his left; and when he cries, half the time he never 
sheds a tear — just screws up his little face as if 
he were making a mighty effort to be brave. Why, 
the other day we found that a pin had been stick¬ 
ing him for hours and all he did was to squirm 
a little, and when we found it, I was so frightened 
that I sent for Stan immediately, though he was 
terribly busy; but he was glad, because he wanted 
to sterilize the place or antisepticize it, whatever 
you call it. Stan says I haven’t a bit of sense 
about such things, but I always say, 4 What’s the 
use of having a doctor for a husband if you can’t 


76 CAROLINE S CAREER 

use his brains? ’ Heaven knows there are few 
enough compensations; telephone ringing half 
the night; hospital calls, finical women — my 
dear, the silly women! I spend half my time try¬ 
ing to locate Stan for them because their babies 
have broken out in a rash, or swallowed a pin, or 
some other simple thing. ” 

The smile that had been lighting Caroline’s 
amused face broke in a laugh. 

“ What are you laughing at? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ You always were cryptic, Cal dear. Forgive 
my saying so. So highbrow. The girls in the flat¬ 
iron room loved you to death but they stood in 
awe of you; especially after you put the play 
over that time. My, but you are clever. Still 
going East, careering, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, we leave in ten days.” 

“ My dear, I shall miss you so.” 

“ Shall you? ” 

“ You know it. By the way, I had a letter this 
morning from Susan Stirling. I’ll run upstairs 
and get it. I want to take a peek at Junior, 
anyway. ’ ’ 

Caroline settled back in the cozy steamer chair 
with its soft cushions, her arms under her head. 


CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 77 

When Betty returned she found her dreaming, 
with a smile still on her lips. 

Betty drew up a deep wicker. “ Listen to this,” 
she said. “ It’s our same old Susan.” 

“ Boston, August 30 —19 — 

“ Dearest Betty: 

“I’ve been wanting to write to you ever since 
you sent me the snapshots of your adorable son, 
certainly a wonderful specimen- 

They both laughed and Caroline exclaimed, 

“ Specimen! Isn’t that Susan to the life! Re¬ 
member those jars she used to have at college, 
on the window sills, marked one, two and three; 
specimens of toads, reptiles, worms! Specimens! 
Don’t I know! Didn’t I room with her for nearly 
a year! ” 

“ You did, poor child. But listen to this: 

“ ‘ Can’t see that he resembles you in the least, 
must get his pudgy underpinnings from his illus¬ 
trious father.’ (I suppose she means his precious, 
fat legs, though heaven knows Stan is as lanky 
as they make ’em.) 4 I’ve never had the pleasure 
of meeting him, but from your ravings at college ’ 
(even in your sleep, Cal Ravenel used to say) — 
‘ he must be Exhibit A. By the way, when you see 
Caroline, as I suppose you do often, do give her 
my best. I always liked her, though she was 



78 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


awfully fussy about her room that semester we 
were together; but I haven’t forgotten how nice 
she was to Dicky and those prize toads Rather- 
bourne and I were mad about. Remember them? 
Horned, you know, of the ’ (get this if you can, 
Cal) ‘ insectivorous lizard variety, constituting 
the genius Phrynosoma-’ ” 

“ That will be all right with me, Betty, dear; 
read on, please — any news? ” 

Betty skipped a few paragraphs and continued: 

“ ‘ I have been working here in Boston ever 
since I left California and enjoying my in¬ 
structors except for one thing, I don’t mind telling 
you; Dad and I can’t get on together any better 
than we ever did, and I am thinking of going to 
New York for the winter to take up work at 
Columbia. There’s only one drawback-’ ” 

Caroline and Betty again broke into laughter. 

“Yes; it’s coming, Cal, it wouldn’t be Susan 
without.” 

“ < I haven’t the money. I was wondering if 
it would be asking too much of you to finance me. 
I know that you have your own private income, 
and I am quite sure that when I finish, I shall be 
able to get a position and pay you back — every 
cent.’ ” 




CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 79 

“ Of course you sent a check immediately.” 

Betty smiled as she looked up from the letter. 

“ Of course. Did any one ever refuse Susan 
anything? She’s so deadly in earnest, and such 
a credit to us. Stan thought I ought to. Isn’t 
he a dear, Caroline? You don’t know, I just can’t 
tell you, what he means to me. When I think of 

those long years without father and mother-” 

She drew a trembling sigh; her blue eyes filled 
and overflowed. 

“ I know I’m perfectly silly, but I don’t care, 
Caroline, I want to ask you something. You don’t 
mind, do you? Aren’t you going to marry Jimmy? 
Can’t you make up your mind? I used to be so 
afraid at Cal (the university was always Cal to 
them) that it might be Biddy. Biddy’s a dear, no 
denying that, but-” 

She stopped, afraid that she had ventured too 
far. Caroline’s most intimate friends never 
intruded. 

Caroline rose, reached for her Milan hat with 
its crown of yellow poppies, and put it on her 
head. 

“I’m afraid it isn’t going to be anybody, Betty. 
There’s my work, you know-’ ’ 

“ Pooh, work! Could any work take the place 





80 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

of a husband and a bunch of sweetness like that 
upstairs? Please forgive me; I don’t want to 
intrude, but I am afraid you are making a mis¬ 
take. Men like Jimmy Ludlow — well, Stan’s 
simply crazy about him. Says he will be a 
Supreme judge or something. Take my advice, 
Caroline. Don’t be silly. As your old Maumy 
used to say, ‘ Men is men! ’ He’ll be stepping 
off. There are so many charming girls coming 
along. A regular garden of them — and — you 
are going on twenty-three-” 

“ A terrible age! ” 

“ Old enough to settle down. Must you really 
go? I hoped you would stay to lunch and help 
me select some cretonnes for my guest room.” 

Caroline adjusted her hat before the antique 
mirror in the hall and turned quietly. 

“ I think not to-day, Betty. I almost forgot 
my errand. Mayre and I are giving a party 
Friday night — Stan’s old crowd. Of course you 
will come? ” 

‘ ‘ If we can, surely. Never can tell about Stan. 
If some of his finical women-” 

Caroline warded off the lingo with a kiss. 

“ Do try, there’s a dear,” she said, and was off. 

But as she trudged back through the yellow 




CAROLINE PLANS A PARTY 81 


leaves, clearing a path just to hear them rustle, 
Betty’s words came back with added force. Was 
she making a mistake? Was marriage the ulti¬ 
mate aim of every girl? 

Instead of turning in at her own gate, she took 
the tangled path that led to the canon. She 
wanted space, a place to breathe and to think. 


CHAPTER VI 


OLD FRIENDS 

E VEN Doctor Ravenel, quiet and dignified, 
took a decided interest in Caroline’s party. 
Perhaps the fact that Caroline was giving it 
(Caroline, as every one knew, was the apple of 
his eye) lent interest. He came home the day 
before the event with several dozens of Chinese 
lanterns; ordered new garden chairs, and rather 
insisted upon canvasing the tennis court for 
dancing. 

“ Major! That would be such an expense, and 
it may turn quite cold,” Caroline protested. But 
in the end he had his way. 

Martha came early Friday morning, eager and 
alert. She hurried about the kitchen, giving 
good-natured orders while she cleared the table 
for baking, buttered cake tins, and measured 
flour. 

“ How many these here hermits you all think 
I got to make? ” she inquired of Caroline. 


OLD FRIENDS 83 

‘ ‘ Oceans! ’ ’ came the flutelike answer from the 
drawing-room. “ You know boys, Martha! 99 
“ But I’s gwine make cakes, too.” 

“ Surely, heaps of them! ” 

“ And sandwiches! ” 

“ Loads! I will help you in a minute, and Mrs. 
Ludlow is coming over. ” 

To Caroline’s delight there had been no change 
in Mrs. Ludlow’s attitude. She was the same 
kind, loyal friend, but sometimes a hungry look 
crept into her eyes when she glanced at Caroline, 
and once she had ventured to say: 

u We all hope, dear, talented as you are, that 
you are going to get this career bee out of your 
bonnet and come back to us before long. We need 
you here.” 

The morning took wings. Caroline darted from 
the kitchen to the veranda where Mayre, perched 
high on a stepladder, was hanging lanterns; from 
the veranda to the tennis court; to the telephone 
for messages, to the front and the back doors. 

“ I feel as if my head were like Bobby’s, on ball 
bearings,” she declared, laughing as she fled from 
one thing to another, “ but it’s all such fun! ” 

A ring at the front door made her turn hastily. 
A man held out a florist’s box. 


84 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Mercy, what lugs! ” Caroline exclaimed, 
noticing her name in legible print. “ Who on 
earth has been so kind? Roses! American 
beauties, of all things! Oh, how kind! ” 

She opened the tiny envelope tucked between 
the buds and hastily looked at the enclosed card. 
A warm flush dyed her cheeks. 

“ How thoughtful, ’’ she breathed, almost below 
her breath —“ and how very like him.” 

“ From Jimmy,” she said, almost running into 
her mother in the hall. 

Caroline’s spirits kept pace with the delicious 
odors that rose from Martha’s baking; hos¬ 
pitality, handed down from legions of Southern 
ancestors, welled in her heart. She gave Mar¬ 
tha’s fat arm an ecstatic pat as she passed her 
(on her knees before the oven), to be rewarded 
by, “Don’t you all get so rambunctious, Miss 
Caroline! You come mighty near makin’ me upset 
this here layer cake! ” 

She slipped behind Mrs. Ludlow, sitting at the 
kitchen table, spreading wisps of ham between 
dainty slices of bread, and left a kiss on her dark 
hair. 

“Excuse nje, but I am so happy! ” she apolo- 


OLD FRIENDS 85 

gized. “ And you are so dear to help us this 
way! ” 

Caroline, to be truthful, had never become 
accustomed to seeing the once affluent and com¬ 
fortable Mrs. Ludlow in a kitchen. When she had 
first known her (in her little girlhood) across from 
the old red house, there had been many servants. 
She would scarcely have dared in those days, 
under those circumstances, to steal a kiss, but there 
was something about the intimacy of the clean, 
sweet-smelling kitchen, the spotless white apron 
covering her old friend from tip to toe, that in¬ 
vited caresses — gave one a homey, privileged 
feeling. 

“ Now, what can I do to be saved! ” she asked, 
sticking a teasing finger between the bars of 
Bobby’s gilded cage to see him sputter and ruffle. 
“ The lanterns are all hung, inside and out; the 
rooms are dusted, the veranda swept, the best 
dishes sorted; the fudge cooling-” 

“ You might make me a cup of tea,” Mrs. 
Ludlow ventured, looking at old Mr. Time, who 
was about to declare the hour one. “ And we 
will have the buttered scraps of these sandwiches 
with it.” 

“ Indeed, you will have whole ones — on the 



86 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

dining-room table. I’ll ask mother if we may 
use the pink luster cups and Grandmother Kirt- 
ley’s strawberry teapot.” 

“No, no,” Mrs. Ludlow protested, but Caroline 
had darted off. The next moment there was a 
rattle at the rosewood cabinet in the dining room 
and Martha was filling the shining kettle on the 
stove. 

Mayre selected a clean cloth from the sideboard 
drawer and Caroline arranged fresh flowers in 
the low bowl on the dining table. “ Now, just a 
minute,” she said, running down into the cellar 
for a pot of golden glow jam. “ The party is on, 
this minute! ” 

Mrs. Ravenel came in from the yard, where she 
had been giving instructions to the men who were 
laying the canvas for dancing, looking as fresh 
and lovely as the late roses she held in her hand. 
Caroline put the tray with the frail cups that had 
weathered numerous generations, within her 
reach, and said in a subdued voice, “ These are 
the times I always want to say grace; when we 
have you, Mrs. Ludlow — and the pink cups and 
the strawberry teapot! Do you mind! ” 

She bowed her head as naturally as if she were 
in the privacy of her own room and repeated the 


OLD FRIENDS 87 

words that the Major had taught her almost in 
infancy: 

44 Make us grateful, dear Lord, for these, Thy 
mercies; bless our family life, our friendships — 
and let us never forget to he kind.” 

44 Let us never forget to he kind! ” It was the 
simple doctrine upon which she had been 
reared, — a phrase so planted in the recesses of 
her soul that it had flowered in spirit and 
character. 

44 Now,” said Mrs. Ludlow, when she had de¬ 
clined a fourth helping of real sandwiches and 
Martha’s invitations to cut the fresh cake, 44 I 
must go home and let you all nap, so that you will 
be bright and interesting for this evening.” 

44 Of course, you are coming to-night, you and 
Mr. Ludlow, with Jimmy? ” 

Mrs. Ludlow took Caroline’s brown chin in the 
hollow of her cool hand and stooped to kiss either 
brown cheek. 44 I shan’t promise, my child; old 
people are generally a nuisance at a frolic.” 

44 A nuisance? ” 

44 We shall see.” 

Caroline watched her long after she left the 
wicket gate and took the crooked woodsy path 


88 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


that led home. Then she turned with something 
very like a lump in her throat. 

“ I reckon/’ she thought, “ I am an ingrate, 
to — to give up a mother-in-law like that — when 
they are sometimes so trying.’’ 

With one of her swift, characteristic move¬ 
ments, she turned and went hack to work. 

The Abbey was an alluring sight that evening 
as dusk settled down over the mountains and 
spread like a thickening mantle to the little gar¬ 
den. And later, when the lights began to twinkle 
through the gloom, lights that flickered and flared 
inside the colorful lanterns, it was a fairy place. 

Caroline, a picture herself in a creamy gown, 
with one of Jimmy’s red buds tucked in the low 
coil of her dark hair, coaxed her father out into 
the yard to get the full effect. “ I want you to 
see how cleverly Mayre hung the lanterns in the 
pergola,” she said, “ so that it looks like a 
Chinese temple. We only need some sweet-toned 
bells and a few pattering maids like Biddy Web¬ 
ster’s mother has, to make it perfect.” 

Presently they began to come, those boys and 
girls grown tall, — men and women now, busy with 
life’s manifold affairs. 

Caroline, with a graciousness that was an in- 


OLD FRIENDS 


89 


heritance, stood with graceful, little Mayre in the 
drawing-room to receive them. The glow from 
a tall lamp beside her fell with soft becomingness 
on her beautiful hair, brushed until it gleamed 
like satin, deepening the shadows in her eyes, 
casting a bewitching spell about her. More than 
one young man paused a moment, lingering over 
her cordial greeting, drinking in the sheer love¬ 
liness of her. 

“ This was dandy of you, Caroline! ” they said, 
as they passed on, or, “ You’re still a good sport, 
I’ll say! ” Or “ Who but you would ever have 
thought of getting the bunch together ? ” 

Before the evening was half over Caroline knew 
that the venture was a success. Even Muriel 
Roach had engaged Herman Holt in conversation, 
and Kathleen Briggs and her Titian-headed hus¬ 
band were making a desperate effort to entertain 
Fred Everstron. A jovial spirit pervaded the 
rooms. Even Grandfather Kirtley’s smile came 
to life in his portrait above the mantel. The red 
lips seemed almost to part in amusement. 

Caroline scarcely knew how she managed it, 
but she found herself out in the pergola with 
Herman,— Herman, awkward and a little uncom¬ 
fortable in his correctly pressed new clothes. 


90 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


“ I want to know all about you, Herman. All 
you are doing — everything.’ 9 

Herman wondered afterward how he had dared 
to tell her — everything. His disappointments; 
his hopes and ambitions. But her eyes were so 
inviting, her interest so genuine. Before he 
realized it, he was speaking of his mother, respect¬ 
fully but sadly, pouring out his very heart. 

“ It’s hard sometimes, Caroline,” he said and 
stopped, urged on again by her gentle “Yes.” 
“ Mother doesn’t always understand. You see, 
she’s from the old country; her ways are old- 
country ways. She can’t understand my wanting 
to draw and paint. She doesn’t know it’s my very 
life and breath! She wants me to take a course in 
business; fusses if I make sketches or spend an 
afternoon in the mountains. Sometimes I wonder 
where I get it all, this terrible craving to do some¬ 
thing— to make a name. I’d give ten years off 
the end of my life to have done one good thing, 
one! Old Cheyenne out there — with the sun on 
his back.” 

“ Yes, Herman, I know, I understand-” 

“ Do you — do you really, Caroline! You don’t 
think I’m a fool! ” 

“No, no, go on; go on, Herman. She will 



OLD FRIENDS 91 

understand later. She will be so proud some 
day. ’ ’ 

She saw him again later. He was standing be¬ 
fore the portrait of her grandfather, oblivious to 
surroundings. Sometimes he reached up and ran 
a caressing hand over the paint; traced the mouth 
and eyes with a halting finger; stood back, and 
then came closer. Caroline turned to hide a rush 
of tears. 

And, although she flitted in and out among her 
guests, she managed to take a minute’s rest on 
the veranda where Jimmy Ludlow sat with the 
Major. They rose at her entrance and smiled 
down upon her. She had never realized before 
that Jimmy towered well up beside her father; 
that there was something of the same courtliness 
in his manner. She saw his eyes wander to her 
hair — remembered the rose tucked there. 

“ Aren’t you dancing? ” she asked. “ It isn’t 

leap year, but if you will do me the honor-” 

She bowed low before him. 

It was the supper hour, and the tennis court 
was half deserted; over to the East, toward 
Austin’s Bluff, the moon was rising. Stanley 
Warren, with the interest and privilege of an old 
friend, was extinguishing the candles in the lan- 



92 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


terns; the moon’s soft rays had put their flicker¬ 
ing to shame. 

“ How about it, old man, a moonlight dance? ” 
he said to Jimmy; and Jimmy called back, 
“ Fine, Stan, go to it! ” 

They fell in step; the music stopped its jazzy 
shriek and took a sweeter cadence; Jimmy’s hold 
tightened about her waist; her heart raced madly. 

They were on their way to the twinkling per¬ 
gola in the pines when Caroline came out of her 
dream and spoke. 

u Thank you, Jim; you dance as well as ever. 
I wish it might go on — forever! ” 

“ It could, Caroline — if you only thought so.” 

She shook her head. 

“ You — you don’t quite understand, Jimmy,” 
she said, and thought of poor Herman. 

They were silent for some minutes after they 
sat down. Jimmy had picked up the end of her 
wide sash and was separating the fringe — put¬ 
ting the strands into little clusters — neat, me¬ 
thodical clusters. The precision made Caroline 
smile. Somehow those evenly separated strands 
reflected Jim’s nature, his fairness, his honesty. 

Suddenly he dropped the sash and looked up. 


93 


OLD FRIENDS 

u I wish yon all success, Caroline — yon know 
that . 9 9 

“ Of course, Jim.” 

“ I want yon to be happy — happy above all 
things. It doesn’t matter about anything else.” 

“ But you, Jim — your happiness*? ” 

“ It is of less importance.” 

Her hand stole into his, almost childishly. His 
own tightened over it. 

“ You will write to me — as you always have 
done — Jim*? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You will think of me — often*? ” 

There was no answer, only his hand pressed 
harder. 

They rose together. 

“I — I think I must go in now — Mayre will be 
needing me — Martha isn’t very good at serving.” 

“ Let me help you.” 

“ If you will — please.” 

She saw him again later, after they had finished 
serving. He was sitting with Stan and Betty, 
barely tasting the ice cream balanced on his knee, 
one of Mrs. Kirtley’s elaborately monogrammed 
napkins spread beneath the plate. She thought 
he had never looked so handsome, bending to 


94 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


catch Betty’s prattle about Junior; his gray eyes 
clear and interested, — wistful. For years after, 
the expression remained with her. 

She wanted to take her belated refreshments 
and sit beside him, but her guests were beginning 
to go. She moved on to the front door and stood 
there smiling, her hand outstretched. 

“ Good-by, Caroline! ” one after another said, 
“ Don’t forget us when you become famous down 
in ‘ lil old New York! ’ Remember your old pals! 
Come back to us. There’s no place like home. 
You’ll find that out! ” 

She listened to the last footfall, calling her fare¬ 
wells, catching the jokes and laughter that fell 
on the crisp night air; waving to this one, blow¬ 
ing kisses to the girls as they drew their pretty 
evening wraps about them. 

Stan and Betty were the last to move. 

“ Better call this play-writing stuff off and 
stay with us, Caroline,” Stan said, with his in¬ 
gratiating smile. “ Isn’t Colorado good enough 
for you? Wait until you get jammed in a sub¬ 
way or cross Broadway after a matinee; you’ll 
want to hike for the Springs to clear your lungs. 
Want to bet?” 


OLD FRIENDS 95 

She shook her head. “ I’m afraid it’s too late, 
Stan.” 

“ Never too late to mend! ” 

He was oft, down the path to the gate, his arm 
beneath Betty’s elbow, her eyes glowing into his. 

Caroline turned with a little catch at her heart. 
She lay awake that night long after the others 
slept, thinking over the day’s happenings, the 
party, Jimmy. For a long time her thoughts 
dwelt upon Jimmy. How he towered above most 
men; not just in height; there was something 
else that set him up. Something indefinable, yet 
definite. How clean-cut he was — always splen¬ 
didly groomed: the little half-moons in his finger 
nails — how perfect they were. Mannerisms came 
back to her: his quick walk, a little trick he had 
of straightening his cuffs, then twisting his arms 
until they slid up again under his coat; the way 
he held his head, sometimes a little to one side; 
his slow smile, his clear grave eyes. 

Another hour passed; still she lay thinking. 
The moon rode farther west. It peeked in at her 
window, making golden checkers of the blocked 
quilt that old Maumy Rachel had pieced for her. 
Dear old Maumy Rachel. She would see her soon 
now, and Maumy would say, ‘ How’s Mr. Jimmy, 


96 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Miss Caroline? You ain’t gwine turn down a fine 
young feller like him, is you — not fer this play¬ 
actin’business. Lord a massy! Some folks don’t 
know when they’s well off — no, they don’t.” 

Maybe that was true, but how was one to know? 
Was life one grand choice? Was it just a busi¬ 
ness of selecting? Why were people given talents 
if they weren’t to use them? Look at Betty War¬ 
ren— hadn’t touched the piano since Junior 
came, probably never would again — and all that 
wasted energy, those hours and hours of practice. 
Yet, was it time wasted? Who was it said, 
“ There shall never be one lost good? ” Wasn’t 
that precious infant worth more than music, any¬ 
way — wasn’t- 

She turned to the wall with a long trembling 
sigh, taking Maumy’s quilt in a heap with her. 
What was the use of worrying? She had made 
her choice and that was the end of it. 

She yawned once, twice, and determinedly 
pulled down a curtain in her brain, to shut out 
Jimmy Ludlow’s alluring personality. 



CHAPTER VII 


GOOD-BY TO OLD SURROUNDINGS 

D OCTOR RAVENEL had never been quite 
happy about the marriage of his second 
daughter, Alison. Alison was just younger than 
Leigh, and older than Mayre. He had always re¬ 
gretted that he had given his consent to her early 
marriage. Alison was barely twenty, and had 
known Tevis McElroy but a short time when she 
promised to become his wife; lured, her father 
feared, by his wealth rather than by his pleasing 
personality. 

Not that the Doctor objected to Tevis; on the 
contrary he like him, and his sympathy, if sym¬ 
pathy were needed, was on his side. It was the 
great wealth that Alison had fallen into that wor¬ 
ried him, far more than his family suspected. 
Caroline could have turned good fortune to ac¬ 
count, making others happy as well as herself. 
Leigh would have been a very angel of mercy. 
Even Mayre, shy and artistic, with her modest, 


98 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


shrinking nature, would have bloomed and ex¬ 
panded under favorable conditions, for Mayre 
was unselfish in the extreme. But Alison was 
different. 

Sometimes in the long watches of the night 
(Doctor Ravenel had come to Colorado for his 
health, a lung affection, and always slept out of 
doors) he would lie awake under the stars and 
reproach himself for his own remissness in this 
alien child’s upbringing. Perhaps if he had tried 
this, suggested that, supplemented something 
else, he might have eradicated the selfishness that 
was apparent, even in her childhood. 

Sometimes he wondered by what strange freak 
of inheritance she had come by a sin, that, to him, 
was the deadliest of all sins: self-gratification. 
Not from her mother. Mrs. Ravenel would deny 
herself anything to aid friend or neighbor, though 
she was far from sociable. Not from splendid old 
Captain Kirtley, Mrs. RavenePs father (who was 
a paragon of virtues) nor from his wife, beloved 
by her townspeople. 

Nor in his own blood (faulty as some of his kin 
had been) could he trace this parent root of evil; 
and yet he felt, since Alison’s general environ¬ 
ment had been shared by her sisters, all of whom 


GOOD-BY 


99 


were generous and kind, the seed of some stony¬ 
hearted, ease-loving, sybaritic ancestor had winged 
the intervening generations and settled in the 
blood of his still beloved child. 

Still beloved, although she forgot him for 
months at a time; more beloved perhaps, because 
he felt so keen a responsibility for her character. 

He had seen nothing of her since her marriage, 
five years past, although she was amply able to 
visit her family at any time. Her letters were 
always full of excuses. She was not well in a 
cold climate; in the summer, Tevis wanted to go 
abroad — somewhere near famous golf links; 
autumn brought social duties; spring a customary 
flight to Palm Beach. 

A little over a week before Caroline’s departure 
she came into her father’s office one morning with 
an open letter in her hand. 

“ It’s from Tevis, Major,” she said, a puzzled 
look dawning in her eyes. “ I don’t know what 
to think about it. He has your letter saying 
May re and I will be in New York the eight¬ 
eenth, and he insists that he is coming to Chicago 
to meet us, and carry us down South for a visit. 
There isn’t a word from Alison — I don’t know 
whether she wants us or not.” 


100 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Doctor Ravenel drew Caroline into his private 
room and gently closed the door. He took Tevis’ 
letter and read it slowly. When he had finished, 
he folded the pages together and put them neatly 
in the envelope. He did not speak. 

“ I would so much rather go straight to Leigh 
as we had planned/’ Caroline went on, “ and let 
Blair settle us in New York. They live so near, 
only an hour out, you know — and — and — oh, 
Major, what’s the use bluffing ourselves any 
longer? Alison doesn’t care a rap about us any 
more. She’s the rich Mrs. Tevis McElroy, and 
we’re just poor relations out west! ” 

Doctor Ravenel’s stern, thin hand raised 
quietly. 

“ You are speaking of your sister, Caroline.” 

The spark in his own eyes caught Caroline’s 
and blazed for a minute. 

“ Nevertheless I don’t have to visit her.” 

“ Not if I request it? ” 

“ But you won’t, Major; I don’t want to go. 
Alison is so weaned away now; she has so many 
interests.” 

The Major had swung his office chair half away 
from her and for a moment sat toying with a 
paper weight on his desk; a round glass weight 


GOOD-BY 


101 


that reflected from its crystal depths a baby pic¬ 
ture of Caroline. It had long lain there. Leigh 
had given it to him one Christmas when Caroline 
was a cunning, mischievous little witch, half¬ 
demon with her snapping saucer eyes and tangled 
curls. 

Although he loved it, he looked at it now with 
unseeing eyes, pushing it from him, then drawing 
it closer, sighing as he finally stowed it away in 
one of the cubbyholes above the stained blotter. 
He was thinking. Caroline hesitated to interrupt 
the thoughts that were formulating in his brain. 
He would speak presently. She had learned to 
wait upon his moods. 

“ Let us be frank, Caroline / 9 he said at last, 
“ hut let us not discuss Alison in anger. I think, 
since you are going East, you should visit her, for 
a week at least. Your mother grieves for direct 
word from her. Letters are always more or less 
unsatisfactory — except yours; your gift at writ¬ 
ing helps there. Perhaps you may be able to tell 
us more than we have gleaned from cursory 
notes. ,, 

“ If I go, you wish me to write frankly, 
Major? ” 

“ When you write to me — here at my office.” 


102 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


Caroline understood. If she found things un¬ 
pleasant, she must spare her mother. It was a 
sacred rule, held in the highest obedience by the 
family. 

“ And you really wish us to go? ” 

“ It would make me very happy, Caroline.” 

‘‘ Then of course that settles it. You will write 
Tevis? ” 

“ Yes.” 

She gave him the letter which he had handed 
back to her, and lovingly throwing her arm over 
his shoulder, left a kiss on his fast whitening 
hair. He turned, and putting an arm about her, 
held her close. 

“ Y"ou will miss us so, Major, perhaps we 
shouldn’t leave you,” she said. 

For a moment he laid his head against her 
strong young arm. It was a caress that surprised 
Caroline. For so many years she had leaned on 
him; now, that sudden move had for an instant 
put her in his place. She was his strength. 

She turned so that he could not see the tears 
that blinded her and then with a laugh that was 
more than half-sob, made a remark about his hair 
(still luxuriant) defying his years. It wasn’t at 
all what she wanted to say; she wanted to keep the 


GOOD-BY 103 

years out of the conversation, but they persisted 
so in her mind. 

He straightened, feeling, rather than seeing, 
her mood, and patted her affectionately. 

But she did not forget the incident. It went 
with her on her journey, and others kept it com¬ 
pany: Jimmy ’s hasty good-by. 

He had run in on his way to the office that last 
morning with his customary box of chocolates and 
the latest magazines, hurrying on as if business 
were the one thing in all the world that mattered. 

And there was the last day at home; the desola¬ 
tion of the Abbey after the trunks were packed 
and strapped and the luggage gathered in the 
hall. Mrs. Ravenel had busied herself up to the 
last moment with little details attendant upon a 
journey. “ Had the girls forgotten anything; 
toothbrushes; cold cream for the sooty train 
smoke — Mayre’s camera? ” 

Caroline understood those eager solicitations. 
They took her mother away on quiet trips to the 
bedrooms; deferred dreaded last minutes. 

But the other, perhaps the most poignant mem¬ 
ory of all, was the last, the view from the train 
window. Farewells had been said, affectionate 


104 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


kisses given, and then they had gone away, her 
father and mother. 

Mayre began to arrange the luggage to hide 
her emotion, but Caroline’s glance never wavered. 
She watched them as thev climbed the hill to the 
spot where they had parked the car, those precious 
forms, her father a little behind, helping her 
mother tenderly. 

A stiff wind had sprung up. It caught her 
mother’s long skirts, baring her trim ankles and 
smart boots with their impossible heels. The 
tails of the Major’s light summer overcoat flapped 
and twisted, wrapping about his thin limbs. 

Was it because the wind blew so that they both 
stooped? Was it the exertion of climbing that 
made their steps seem weary? Surely her father 
was leaning more heavily than usual upon his 
stout walking stick. 

Caroline could not decide, but the vision re¬ 
mained with her: those two forms buffeting the 
wind — climbing — plodding. 

“ But they have each other! ” she said, as a 
turn in the road lost them to view, and, anyway, 
their burdens are lightened! 

Perhaps, after all, they rather liked beginning 
over again. Only last night she had seen her 


GOOD-BY 


105 


father draw his chair closer to her mother’s with 
the pretense of a better light on his paper; and 
later, when she had gone hack to the room for 
something she had forgotten, his hand had found 
hers. Perhaps he was only bracing her for the 
next day’s ordeal, but anyway, Caroline loved the 
picture. 

The seat opposite her own was vacant. She 
crossed over for a last lingering look at the Old 
Man in the west. He would not change, no matter 
how long she remained away; he would be there, 
solid as the ages. 

She kept her eyes turned toward him until the 
early dusk fell like a robe about him. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ALISON 

T EVIS had changed but little during the five 
years that had passed since Caroline had 
seen him. He was heavier, more mature, and, 
now and then, despite the fact that he v T as so com¬ 
fortably situated in life, he had a dejected, world- 
weary look that ill became so young a man. 

Caroline noticed it soon after they started 
southward. They had settled back in the com¬ 
partment to enjoy an hour’s visit. 

“ Now you must tell us all about Alison,” was 
Caroline’s first remark. 

Was it possible; did Tevis shrug his shoulders 
ever so little as he flicked the ashes from his 
cigarette with a nervous finger, or did she fancy 
it? Caroline could never quite trust her impres¬ 
sions; they w T ere so apt to be colored by her 
imagination. 

“ Alison? ” he repeated, and an expression so 
swift and unexplainable passed over his counte¬ 
nance that Caroline could not fathom it. “ Alison 


ALISON 107 

is well. You will find her as beautiful as ever. 
Time neither adds nor takes from her.” 

“ She has so little to worry her,” Mayre re¬ 
marked. “ She has been so fortunate.” 

Tevis said nothing. He leaned back against 
the car cushion and closed his eyes, letting the 
conversation drift. But Caroline pursued the 
subject. 

“ She hasn’t grown stouter, then? She writes 
so often about having to exercise to keep down 
the troublesome Kirtley flesh. Mother says that’s 
on her side. The Ravenels are all slender.” 

Tevis’ laugh jarred a little. Caroline was 
nettled. 

“ A few pounds can make a difference,” she 
said — “ in one’s waistbands, anyway. Cousin 
Eliza is well? We shall see her, of course.” 

“ Cousin Eliza’s a peach; yes, she runs out 
often. Sometimes we have a little lark all our 
own — when she dines with me. Alison’s away a 
lot; society and charity affairs; committees and 
what not. Last year when I managed to pick up 
the flu, Cousin Eliza came out and camped with 
me-” 

“ Where was Alison? ” 

“ Alison is afraid of diseases. I preferred that 



108 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


she ran no risk; I rather insisted upon her going 
up to New York.” 

“ But, good gracious, wouldn’t she run into it 
there? It was everywhere! ” 

“ She didn’t! Abbie went along with disin¬ 
fectants.” 

u She still has Abbie? ” 

Oh, yes, Abbie is an institution.” 

The conversation lapsed for a minute. There 
seemed nothing more to say. When Tevis went 
off to his own compartment, a little later, Mayre 
w’hispered: 

“ He doesn’t seem very happy, does he? Oh, 
dear, I wish we hadn’t come. Not if things are 
going to be unpleasant.” 

“ They won’t be,” Caroline said cheerfully. 

“ But Alison’s going away when Tevis was 
sick, like that, why-’ ’ 

Caroline opened her black traveling bag with a 
jerk. 

“ If things are unpleasant, we will move on,” 
she said determinedly. “ I think Major only 
wanted us to pay our respects.” 

It was rather early when the party arrived the 
next morning, but nevertheless Caroline looked 



ALISON 109 

about the station for her sister’s welcoming smile. 
It was missing. 

Tevis led the way to a handsome limousine. A 
man in livery touched his hat respectfully. The 
bags were tucked in the tonneau; Caroline, with 
Tevis and Mayre, sank down on the luxurious, 
silver-gray cushion, and the door banged. 

“ I rather hoped Alison would be at the train,” 
Mayre ventured. “ I can scarcely wait to see 
her.” 

The expression, noticed the night before, 
crossed Tevis’ face. 

“ Alison never rises early.” 

It took some time to reach the imposing resi¬ 
dence set in its acre of ground at the outskirts of 
the city. When the car finally stopped under the 
porte-cochere, Caroline looked up radiantly. 

“ What a perfectly stunning place, Tevis! ” 
she remarked. “And what wonderful grounds!” 

The door opened, a pleasant-faced old darky 
with stubby white whiskers and a friendly smile, 
reached for the bags which the chauffeur had 
tossed on the hall settle. A colored maid in a 
black dress and spotless apron led the way up¬ 
stairs. Tevis followed. 

“ The rose suite, isn’t it, Sophy? ” he inquired, 


110 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


flinging open a door on the second landing. “ See 
that the young ladies are made comfortable, and 
that breakfast is not kept waiting. We’re all 
famished.” 

“ They will have it here — in the rooms? ” the 
girl asked. 

“ Oh, no; let us have it with you, Tevis,” Caro¬ 
line exclaimed, not wishing to make extra work. 

“ Surely! ” He looked at his watch. “ In 
ten minutes? Can you make it? ” 

They found him a little later, comfortable be¬ 
hind a bubbling coffee urn, his paper spread be¬ 
fore him. Old Peter, the white-haired butler, 
hovered over him, pushing the urn closer, un¬ 
covering buttered toast. 

“ Mayn’t I pour the coffee? ” Caroline asked, 
noting the urn with its tray of delicate cups. 

“ Sure thing! Will you? Peter does it 
usually, but we’d a heap rather have a lady, eh, 
boy? ” 

The old man grinned as he pushed the service 
in Caroline’s direction. Tevis put aside his paper 
and watched her slender hands. 

“ You wouldn’t contract to do this every morn¬ 
ing, would you? ” he asked almost wistfully. 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t want to take Alison’s place.” 


ALISON 


111 


Peter turned his back and fumbled with the 
dishes on the sideboard. The ghost of Tevis’ 
sardonic smile flickered, then faded. 

“ Alison doesn’t breakfast early,” he said, with 
the utmost politeness. 

“ Then I should love it — one lump or two? 
Oh, yes, three, I remember, indiscreet man! ” 

Her laugh caught his, mingling gently. 

“ Scold on,” he said; “ I rather like it.” 

Even after they had finished the rich golden 
waffles that Peter pressed upon them, Tevis 
lingered. 

“ Suppose you want to unpack,” he said, and 
finally pushed his chair from the table. 

“ Oh, we shall only be here a few days,” Caro¬ 
line answered, her face crimsoning. 

“ A few days! Come on now! Isn’t that 
rather shabby when I went all the way to Chicago 
to bring you down here ? ’ ’ 

Caroline rather thought it was, but she said 
nothing. 

“ Maybe you would like to look over the house 
a little,” Tevis suggested, as they left the cosy 
breakfast room. 

But Caroline had other plans. Barely had the 
door closed upon them in their bedroom when she 


112 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


broke forth. “ Unpack, indeed! With such a 
welcome from Alison. I would not remove the 
things from our traveling bags — not even to 
please the Major.” 

But she changed her mind a little later, for 
there was a tap at the door and Alison entered, — 
not with arms outstretched—that would have been 
too much to expect—but with a brilliant smile and 
a cordial, “ Dear girls! How very nice to see 
you! ” 

Although she offered her cheek for a kiss, she 
turned it so far that May re’s spontaneous caress 
reached the very tip of her ear — or would have, 
had it not been covered with its wealth of Kirtley 
hair. Caroline let her own greetings go at a 
handshake. 

‘ ‘ And how you have grown — both of you! 
Caroline, how much you are like Father! ” 

She had stepped back now and was taking in 
their attractions minutely. Caroline read her 
thoughts in regard to Mayre, but she was scarcely 
self-conscious enough to accept the admiration 
that shown in Alison’s eyes when she turned to¬ 
ward her. 

And the girls were not slow to recognize Ali¬ 
son’s finished beauty. She was dressed for 


ALISON 


113 


riding, in a soft tan coat that fell to her knees, 
where it met graceful breeches tightly buttoned 
into tan riding boots. Her beautiful hair was 
skilfully arranged under a brown derby, inde¬ 
scribably becoming. She carried a small riding 
crop with a burnished gold head, heavily mono- 
grammed. 

Yes; Tevis was right. Time had not touched 
her, except to add to her beauty. She was ex¬ 
quisite, only a little too perfect to be real, too 
artificial. Why was it she made Caroline think 
of a wax lily that old Maumy had carried to Colo¬ 
rado with her? Caroline had never touched it; 
Maumy always kept it under a glass globe, but 
sometimes, if she were good (all too seldom) 
Maumy permitted her to look at it, and always 
her little nostrils had widened expectantly, though 
Maumy invariably said, “ ’Taine got no smell, 
honey; it’s jes make-believe; han’made— but it’s 
perfec! ” 

Even as a child she had rebelled at the decep¬ 
tion. What good was it? What did its beauty 
amount to — handmade! 

Her thoughts wandered back so far that she 
was quite oblivious to Alison’s questions. Her 
sister had seated herself on the very edge of a 


114 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


Windsor chair, carefully parting the tails of her 
riding coat to avoid mussing them, and all the 
while she was inquiring, “ How are darling 
Mamma and Father? ” she was flicking imaginary 
lint or dust from her trousers, or examining the 
leather of her handsome hoots. 

“ They are both well,” Caroline answered, 
“ and sent you a great deal of love.” 

She looked closely to see if Alison’s face re¬ 
sponded to the message, but Alison had discovered 
a flaw in the boot and instead of saying, “ How I 
should love to see them,” remarked, “ Dealers 
are so unreliable these days. I really think these 
boots will have to go back to the shop. I am not 
at all satisfied with them.” 

And yet, absorbed as she appeared to be, Ali¬ 
son’s quick eyes and brain were taking in the 
girls before her. Caroline’s beauty amazed her. 
She could scarcely take her glance from those 
splendid golden eyes under their curved black 
brows; the straight nose, the red, mobile mouth. 
She must manage to keep Caroline for awhile, 
she thought, and present her to society; she would 
be a mild rage in the exclusive circle in which she 
herself had made so secure a place. And Mayre? 
Mayre was attractive, too, in her way, but she 


ALISON 


115 


would never be noticed with Caroline m the fore¬ 
ground. Where had Caroline got her poise ? She 
was so sure of herself, so aristocratic in look and 
bearing. 

A knock at the door interrupted conversation. 
Sophy entered. 

“ The trunks, Mrs. McElroy,” she said. 
“ Where will the young ladies have them? ” 

Alison rose, giving directions. 

“ You will want to rest for awhile after your 
journey, I am sure, so you will excuse me until 
lunch time. I always ride in the morning. It is 
the one thing that keeps me fit. Please be com¬ 
fortable; Sophy will unpack and put away your 
things. Of course, you are going to make us a 
nice long visit. I am so anxious to hear all about 
the West.” 

She smiled an almost cordial smile and turned 
to go. At the door she paused. “ If you want 
to, wander over the house and grounds. I think 
Tevis has planned a drive for the early afternoon. 
The city is very lovely now in autumn dress.” 

Tevis had planned! Tevis! 

Sophy, the maid, stood near the door, awaiting 
orders. 

“ We shall not need you,” Caroline said. “ We 


116 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


are accustomed to waiting upon ourselves. Thank 
you just the same.” The girl backed out, much 
surprised. 

At one o’clock Alison appeared again, and led 
the way to the dining room. Tevis was not pres¬ 
ent. Alison was in a pleasant mood and chatted 
affably. There was a glow about her from the 
exercise of riding, a glow that lent warmth to her 
cold, clear-cut features. 

“ You have seen the house? ” she asked, when 
they had all but finished luncheon. They had 
not; they had been busy writing letters home and 
unpacking the things they would need for their 
short stay. It was Mayre who gave the 
information. 

“ Then I will show it to you.” 

Alison led the way to the large drawing-room 
that seemed to occupy the extreme left wing of 
the house. For all it was so large and so hand¬ 
some, it presented (so Caroline thought) a dreary 
aspect. 

A handsome rug covered the floor; not a color¬ 
ful Oriental, but a one-toned carpet that caught 
the putty shade of the walls and faded into them. 
A grand piano stood at one end, closed. The 
ivory-toned mantel, with its ample grate and pol- 


ALISON 


117 


ished andirons, was empty. There was not a pic¬ 
ture to be seen, — not an ornament, save two huge 
glass vases that reflected the color in the rug and 
in some lights showed a cold blue glaze. 

A huge sofa, carrying out the same dull tones, 
stood before the fireplace. Caroline dropped 
down upon it and hastily scrambled to extricate 
herself from its luxurious depths. 

Chairs were scattered about. Deep, overstuffed 
chairs, akin to the sofa. There were no shades at 
the windows; the heavy, putty colored curtains 
were drawn back, so that one caught a vista of 
ancient oaks and elms; of formal gardens still 
bright in the autumn sunshine. Mayre stood en¬ 
tranced before one of the windows. 

“You have been so wise not to clutter the room 
with a lot of useless things — bric-a-brac, photo¬ 
graphs and reproductions.” 

Alison looked pleased. Caroline said nothing. 

“ Don’t you like it, Caroline! ” Mayre asked. 

Caroline’s topaz eyes took a sweeping glance. 

“ I prefer smaller houses — and personal things 
about,” she said honestly. “ I appreciate that 
picture through the window — it is beautiful, and 

quite enough, perhaps, but-’ ’ She stopped, 

not wishing to be rude. 



118 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Pray go on,” Alison invited. 

“ To me, the room lacks individuality.” 

But Caroline somewhat changed her opinion of 
the mansion later in the afternoon, when Alison’s 
fashionable friends dropped in for tea, — espe¬ 
cially of the drawing-room. 

Peter had made a splendid fire and set one of 
the rare mahogany tables with sparkling silver 
and napery. A copper kettle, polished until it 
shone, steamed and sputtered on a tray with price¬ 
less china. The deep chairs were drawn closer; in 
little groups that made them seem more friendly. 
Sophy pattered about, relieving the elegantly 
gowned women of rich furs and wraps; pushing 
the tea cart with its delectable muffins and scones 
down the line of laughing, chatting guests. 

The barren room, so cold and formal in the 
morning, now seemed a most fitting background 
for the women’s colorful costumes. It lent itself 
admirably to entertainment. Peter’s carefully 
selected logs flickered and flamed, crimsoning the 
walls and draperies, dancing over the teacups and 
silver. 

Alison had discouraged the ride with Tevis, 
saying that she wanted the girls fresh and pretty 
for the tea hour. She had quite delicately hinted 


ALISON 


119 


that they must dress becomingly, not too much for 
afternoon, but something soft and becoming; 
semi-low at the neck. 

Caroline selected an ivory-toned crepe made in 
simple straight lines, held at the waist with a soft, 
dull yellow sash that, knotted, fell in graceful lines 
below the hem of the skirt. About her throat she 
had twisted a strand of amber beads that set off 
her dark hair and brought out the velvet spots in 
her eyes. 

She was a picture as she stood with Mayre in 
the doorway, waiting for Alison to rise and intro¬ 
duce her. 

For a moment, the buzzing conversation 
stopped. Women looked up with interest. The 
few men who were in the room rose. 

“ My sisters, the Misses Ravenel,’’ Alison mur¬ 
mured, taking Caroline’s hand and presenting her 
first. “They have come on for a little visit with 
us, before settling in New York for the winter.’’ 

Some one wheeled chairs closer to the fire; 
Sophy pushed the cart within reaching distance. 
At the far end of the room a stout matron lifted 
her lorgnette and openly gazed at Caroline. 

“ My dear,” she said to a young man in a high- 
waisted, pinched-back suit and noticeably delicate 


120 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


spats, “ that’s the most beautiful girl I have seen 
in moons. Alison’s sister, did she say? Do they 
grow like that in the West? Who’s the little one? 
Pretty too.” 

“ Both Mrs. McElroy’s sisters, I believe. 
Didn’t they say the Misses Ravenel! She was a 
Ravenel, remember — the Ravenels of Virginia. 
Think she told me that her father had to go West; 
tuberculosis or some such beastly thing. Jove, 
she is handsome, isn’t she? The taller one! ” 

Fleming DeCoursey adjusted his own glasses 
on his beaked nose and took another look. Caro¬ 
line had settled down in one of the deep chairs. 
It enveloped her, so that only the crown of her 
dark hair, wreathed about her shapely head, re¬ 
mained to view. Mayre had drawn a stool close 
and sat laughing up into the face of a young girl 
who w T as passing cream and sugar. It was a habit 
of Alison’s to allow whoever would to do the 
honors. The buzz resumed. Peter replenished 
the fire. 

Caroline glanced about. Now and then she met 
a stare that changed to a friendly smile. For 
awhile she sat back, listening to the velvet tones 
of Alison’s guests; she realized that she was in 
the South: soft, purring accents, rich and full, 


ALISON 


121 


fell pleasantly npon her ears. She understood 
for the first time what people meant when they 
spoke of her own softly rounded “ r’s.” 

“ You are from Colorado, the land of peaks and 
polar bears? ” a voice at her elbow remarked. 

Caroline turned to receive a puff of smoke di¬ 
rectly in her face. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon — that was so careless; 
I hope I didn’t puff it right into your eyes — I 
didn’t realize that you would turn so quickly. 
Can’t I get you one — a cigarette? ” 

Caroline looked up into the face of a young girl, 
about her own age, a languorous creature who 
made no move to carry out her invitation. 

“ No — I don’t smoke, thank you.” 

“ No; really? You miss a lot. Don’t approve 
of the habit, perhaps? ” 

“ I have really never thought anything about 
it,” Caroline answered frankly. 

“ Perhaps it isn’t being done so much in the 
West? ” 

“ Not in Western colleges — at least not in 
mine.” 

11 Oh, you’re a college woman! How interest¬ 
ing! You will have to tell me all about it; that’s 
the way I have received most of my education — 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


122 

vicariously, don’t you know. Mamma always 
thought travel so much more essential. Of 
course, you have been abroad? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Oh, my dear, you have so much to live for! 
Think of never having smoked or traveled! ” 

Caroline let the covered accusation go. The 
conversation was too trivial to demand defense. 
She was rather glad to see Tevis entering the 
doorway. He seemed to be looking for some one. 
Presently he spied her and came forward. The 
young woman had passed on to more cultured 
quarters and he took the forsaken seat. 

“ Well,” he said, taking a cup of tea from 
Peter’s hand , 11 how are you coming along? Like 
this? ” He nodded toward the guests. 

“ I am a little afraid I don’t fit, Tevis. I 
haven’t had this kind of social training.” 

“ Praise be! ” 

Caroline smiled faintly. Her glance followed 
Tevis’s and lingered on Alison’s flushed face. 
The several men who were in the room centered 
about her. They were all smoking, Alison 
included. 

Caroline’s glance wavered and fell. A russet 
hue stole into her own cheeks. She thought of 


ALISON 


123 


the Major. What would he say to Alison’s cheap 
abandonment? And her mother? She wondered 
if Alison would have the temerity to bring her 
cigarettes into their presence. 

Tevis finished his tea and took from his pocket 
a silver case. He passed it to Caroline before 
taking one of the neatly arranged cigarettes. She 
shook her head. 

“ Don’t smoke? ” he asked, a bit surprised. 

“ No.” 

“ Why not? A question of principle? ” 

“ Rather a question of taste, I should say.” 
Tevis smiled as he struck a light. 

Alison came over to where they were sitting, 
bringing a beaked-nosed young man with her. 

“ Caroline,” she said, “ I want to present Mr. 
DeCoursey. I have been telling him that you 
aspire to writing plays. Femmy is a playwright 
himself. He’s done some very clever things.” 

Tevis offered his seat. Mr. DeCoursey made 
his carefully creased trousers comfortable at the 
knees and sank into the gulf of cushioned springs. 
The conversation was interesting. Mr. DeCour¬ 
sey did know the drama. He also knew something 
of its technique. Fifteen minutes of absorbing 
discussion passed. Then somebody suggested 


124 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


dancing. A phonograph shrieked a fox trot. The 
women who were lucky enough to have partners 
moved toward the large reception hall. 

DeCoursey rose. “ May I have the pleasure ? ” 
he asked. 

The next moment Caroline was following his 
footsteps through the variations of the modern 
dance. 


CHAPTER IX 


MAUMY RACHEL 



LTHOUGH Alison was very chary of com- 


JTx. panionship, Caroline had many opportuni¬ 
ties to view and analyze her sister before the 
week’s visit was over. There was always the 
half-hour in the morning before Alison started 
for her ride; sometimes a brief glimpse at 
luncheon, and a still better opportunity at tea, — 
a function Alison never missed either at home or 
abroad. 

The atmosphere of the beautiful house — Caro¬ 
line never thought of it as a home — chilled and 
appalled her. It was always so still. Servants 
went about noiselessly. They never sang at their 
work as old Maumy Rachel used always to do; in¬ 
deed they seldom smiled. Sometimes old Peter 
ventured a friendly nod or a cheerful, “ Good 
mornin’, Miss, good mornin’; ah hopes you all is 
well to-day.” To which Caroline replied with a 
smile that cheered his old heart, “ Fine, Peter, 


126 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


fine! I hope you are too.” And he would patter 
down the wide hall, scratching his white kinky 
head, murmuring a grateful, “ Thankee, Miss, 
Thankee.” 

The dinners were the hardest, particularly 
when the family dined alone. Almost always 
there was company, — the beaked-nosed young 
man in the pinched-back coat and the young per¬ 
son with the vicarious education. When they were 
present, the conversation raced. There were 
sparkling stories, bon mots which Caroline did not 
always catch; comment and laughter. 

But when they were alone, the conversation was 
strained, unnatural. Tevis’s face held a gloomy 
expression. Alison was frankly bored. Into the 
long silences she sometimes ejected, “ I should 
have insisted upon Femmy’s staying to dinner 
with us,” or, “ You girls must find us very stupid, 
Tevis and I. There is so little to say when one 
has been married five years.” An apologetic 
laugh followed the announcement. 

And yet the days were pleasant. Tevis saw to 
that. He had provided a riding horse for Caro¬ 
line ; a beautiful bay mare, one of the many Ken¬ 
tucky thoroughbreds that filled the McElroy 
stables. Abbie had provided a suitable habit, 


MAUMY RACHEL 


127 


very much like the one Alison wore, and Alison’s 
blue eyes clouded when she saw her sister’s 
slender form arrayed in it. The creamy coat and 
soft tan breeches accentuated her youth, her boy¬ 
ish figure, gave her a charm that Tevis was not 
long in remarking. 

4 ‘ Jove, but you are stunning in that rig, child! ” 
he cried to Alison’s evident discomfort, though 
she was thoroughbred enough to keep silent. 

In the West, Caroline had not had many oppor¬ 
tunities to ride horseback, but those old Virginia 
days when she had played circus on Calico’s will¬ 
ing back stood her in good stead. She took her 
saddle well, light as thistledown on Countess’ 
shimmering back. 

Alison was an experienced horsewoman. She 
was at her best in the saddle and rather delighted 
in riding horses of spirit. The only disagreement 
that passed between her and Tevis in Caroline’s 
presence was in regard to these indiscretions. 
Caroline never forgot the moment. It came back 
to her later with horrible force. 

They were dressing for a dinner party and 
Caroline, not sure of how soon they were starting 
and wanting in the interim to write a hasty line to 
the Major, knocked softly on Alison’s bedroom 


128 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


door. She thought she heard a low “ Come in,” 
and pushed the door ajar. 

Alison was standing in front of her long mirror, 
a radiant vision in a black velvet evening gown, so 
low that it showed every curve and dimple of her 
beautiful back and shoulders. Abbie was clasp¬ 
ing a rope of pearls about her throat. 

The sight of the pearls made Caroline catch her 
breath. From the time Alison had learned to 
talk, she had prated about a rope of pearls. When 
they were children, in Virginia, many years be¬ 
fore, they had talked, as children will, of their 
hopes and ambitions. Caroline’s was to own a 
circus. Mayre wanted to go abroad and study 
art, but Alison always said: 

“ When my ship comes in, I shall buy a rope of 
pearls.” Or “ When Great-aunt Caroline passes 
on to her reward, I hope she will leave me the 
family pearls.” 

Great-aunt Caroline was only a myth. She had 
passed out of the family life in her girlhood, but 
her memory was kept green by tales of her wealth. 

And, strangely enough, Alison had received the 
pearls in the most mysterious way. It was on 
the da} r of her wedding. The presents were ar¬ 
riving when suddenly, without rhyme or reason, 


MAUMY RACHEL 


129 


certainly without warning, a messenger appeared 
with a package. Unwrapped, it displayed a worn 
velvet box in which reposed a string of exquisite 
pearls. There was no card — no clew. The mes¬ 
senger had hastened away before the family be¬ 
came aware of his presence. Inquiry proved of 
no avail. No one knew anything about the pearls. 
To this present moment their sudden appear¬ 
ance had never been accounted for. 

Caroline realized before she had stepped into 
the room that she had stumbled upon a quarrel. 
Tevis’s face was flushed, his voice unsteady. 
“ Alison,” he said, “ I am asking you for the last 
time to give up Silver Heels. He is unsafe. 
Your groom tells me that recently you have had 
two very narrow escapes. I will not permit you to 
ride so fractious a brute any longer.’’ 

Alison turned with a scornful laugh. 

“ Oh, Jilson! ” she remarked, holding her ivory 
hand mirror nearer, so that she could get the ef¬ 
fect of her lovely hair in the glass opposite. 
“ Jilson is a born coward. I shall dismiss him 
to-morrow. I will not have him coming to you 
with tales.” 

“ I must reserve the right to hire or dismiss 


130 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

the men in onr employ,’’ Tevis returned at white 
heat. 

Alison’s low, even tones were maddening. 
“ But I can refuse to have Jilson attend me. 
Keep him by all means, and I will ride alone.” 

Tevis’s face blanched. “ I shall sell Silver 
Heels to-morrow. That is final,” he said. 

Alison turned with a sobered face. “ If Silver 
Heels goes — I go also,” she answered with a 
meaning glance. 

Tevis went a step nearer. He tried to throw 
an arm about his wife, but she backed away w T ith 
a frown. 

“ Tevis, please,” she murmured, “ let us not 
be dramatic. You are annoying me.” 

His coat sleeve had for the briefest moment 
touched her dazzling white back. She shrank 
away, lifting the mirror to see the damage he had 
done. 

“ Abbie,” she said softly, “ the powder — see 

— the left shoulder — the left I said, not the right 

— Mr. McElroy’s sleeve left a mark.” 

Tevis turned, half-stumbling into his adjoining 
room. Caroline backed away from the door 
unobserved. 

And yet there were times when Caroline won- 


131 


MAUMY RACHEL 

dered if Alison were not possessed of two separate 
and distinct natures. She had all the social 
graces, so camouflaged with kindness that often 
those nearest to her felt they had been unjust. 
She could enter a room with a smile so gracious 
that old and young rose to receive her cordial 
greeting. She was especially sweet to old people; 
to Tevis’s mother and father, though Tevis’s 
gray-eyed sister looked below the surface and 
pondered over what she found there. Often her 
effort to be civil to her beautiful sister-in-law was 
forced and unnatural. 

And Caroline, too, found a cunning diplomacy 
hidden beneath beguiling amenities. Alison’s 
smile had its degrees. For Tevis’s mother and 
father, whose purse strings were ever open, it was 
of saccharine sweetness; for the elderly Misses 
Stanhope — autocrats of Southern aristocracy, 
whose hospitality was always at a premium — it 
was not less pleasing; but for the hangers-on in 
her limited world, the social climbers, it was 
merely courteous and well-bred. 

To her father and mother Caroline wrote cheer¬ 
ful heartening letters. There was no need of up¬ 
setting their faith and happiness. She went into 
detail about the mansion Alison called home, of 


132 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


the grounds, the servants, the beautiful drives and 
rides, the teas and dances. 

For Caroline was young and enthusiastic 
enough to enjoy the social triumphs and although 
she took the young Southern swains’ flattery with 
a grain of salt, she was human enough to enjoy it. 
She danced until the wee small hours of the morn¬ 
ing; she lunched and dined with Alison’s friends, 
Mayre going along when she could be persuaded. 
She rode, golfed, and walked with Tevis, wholly 
to Alison’s indifference; and so the days slipped 
by pleasantly if not altogether profitably. 

There was one never-to-be-forgotten week-end 
excursion. Tevis had planned that, naturally, 
since Tevis thought of all the kind things. It was 
a trip to Warrensburg, the old Kirtley home where 
Maumy Rachel was passing her declining days in 
peace and plenty. 

They had started early in the morning in Ali¬ 
son’s beautiful limousine, for the roads were good 
and the distance not too great for comfort. 
Alison had promised to join them, but at the last 
moment pleaded a headache, and Tevis’s sister 
(to Caroline’s secret delight) took her place in 
the party. 

Caroline could never quite understand or de- 


MAUMY RACHEL 


133 


scribe the emotion that swept her as they entered 
the quaint old town, unchanged apparently, ex¬ 
cept for the new houses that had sprung up, the 
new factories and enterprises. Try as she would, 
she could not stem the rush of tears that came 
with the sight of the old home. There it stood, 
that old yellow house, brave in its new paint and 
mended galleries; there was the old triangular 
yard, the familiar woodpile, the neighboring hills 
with their sturdy rhododendrons; the crooked sun¬ 
lit path that skirted off toward the McFees and 
wandered on to town. 

Tevis had suggested dinner at the hotel, and 
then a visit to Maumy, but Caroline’s loyal heart 
had quickened at the thought of her old nurse and 
she begged to be allowed to stop alone and join 
the party later. 

It was just as well; Maumy was too feeble to 
entertain many visitors at a time. Voices con¬ 
fused her. Something in her old brain snapped 
when she demanded poise. 

There was no difficulty in finding the cabin. It 
stood but a stone’s throw from the great yellow 
house, keeping watch over it. A tiny place of one 
room, with a sagging porch to which a wistaria 
vine clung lovingly; with geraniums on the win- 


134 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


dow sill, and a thin line of blue smoke winding 
upward from a broken chimney. 

Caroline waited until the sound of the motor 
had died in the distance before she knocked at the 
battered door. There was a moment’s silence and 
then a querulous, “ Who all knockin’ that-a-way? 
Come on in! ” 

Caroline entered quietly. The room, with its 
old, homemade chairs and tables, was in perfect 
order. In one corner stood a wide, comfortable 
bed covered with brilliant quilts, quilts riotous 
with flowers; clean, beautiful quilts that bore the 
marks of Maumy’s own handiwork. 

The old woman on the bed tried to rise but sank 
back with a groan, her startled eyes straining into 
the room questioningly. 

Caroline went a step nearer, laughing softly. 
She was a tiny girl again as she approached that 
bed, a little Red Riding Hood with a basket of 
goodies under her cape. How those snapping old 
eyes peering above the gorgeous quilts had once 
frightened her! Time was when she had ex¬ 
claimed in terror, “ What big eyes you’ve got, 
Maumy! ” and leaving the basket on a near-by 
chair, sped for the sagging porch and the path 
that led to the big house. But she was not afraid 


MAUMY RACHEL 13.5 

) 

to-day. Her own eyes were large with love and 
happiness. 

“ Maumy,” she said, kneeling down and taking 
the wasted hand held out to her, “ Maumy, don’t 
you know me — Caroline — your little Miss No 
Account? I’ve come to see you, dear — from far- 
off Colorado.” 

For a moment there was not a sound, save the 
ticking of Maumy’s clock on the dilapidated side¬ 
board. Then the old head raised with a jerk, 
feebly, hopefully. 

“ You ain’t jokin’, is you, honey? Maumy 
can’t see like she use’ ter. Lean closer, Missy, 
let me feel yer haid; they ain’t no mistakin’ Kirt- 
ley hair. Yes, you is, you is ma little lamb; my 
lil, good-fer-nothin’ baby! ” 

She was half-crooning, half-sobbing the words, 
and Caroline, burying her face in the bold sun¬ 
rising quilt, shed tears of her own. 

But presently she looked up. Maumy was 
making a mighty effort to stem the tide of her 
emotion. 

“ What done brung y’ all here? 99 she asked, 
still stroking the dark hair tenderly. “ Look over 
yander by the table and bring up a cheer. I ain’t 


136 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

gwine get up to-day. My rhumatiz is naggin’ 
consid’able.” 

“ Isn’t there something I could do for it? ” 

Maumy looked wistfully toward the little cook 
stove that occupied the opposite corner. 

“ If y’-all woudn’t mind heatin’ up this here 
red flannel and puttin’ a fresh tater in my bed — 
down longside them old jints in my knee-” 

“ A potato, Maumy? ” 

“ Yes’m, a tater. Don’t y’-all know a fresh 
tater layin’ longside the misery in yer jints gits 
the disease? Yes’m, it draws hit out’n you.” 

“ Want it peeled, Maumy? ” 

“ No, no’m, it don’t have to be peeled. Jes 
wash it good.” 

“ And warm it? ” 

“ Well, ’taint gwine hurt one to warm it, I 
reckon. Ole Mammy Squires she don’t say noth¬ 
ing about heatin’ it. She brung me this here rab¬ 
bit’s foot and charm stone, same day. ’Tween ’em 
all, I ought to be gettin’ well, but I ain’t. Hit 
takes time when you’s old, honey. Old, like 
Maumy Rachel.” 

Her heavy sigh hurt Caroline. 

“ Who looks after you, Maumy, dear? ” she 
asked, busy with the flannel at the stove. 



MAUMY RACHEL 


137 


“ Oh, the chillun — Darwin’s, and Mandy, his 
wife. But they all has their play and their work. 
They does the best they can. Only sometimes, 
honey, the flannel thar gits cole, and the tater 
needs changin’.” 

“ Of course, I wonder if I could make you some 
tea — and a piece of toast.” 

Maumy sniffed. '' Y ’-all waitin ’ on me! Humph! 
Y’-all — quality! ” 

“ Where do you keep the bread? ” 

Maumy’s longing got the better of her manners. 

“ Over yander in the cupboard in the tin pail. 
There’s a mite of tea left, too, I reckon.” 

Everything was clean and neat. Mandy’s bread 
lay fresh and sweet in its snowy cloth and the 
canister showed more than a pinch of tea. Evi¬ 
dently Maumy was not neglected. That news 
would rejoice the Major’s heart. 

Maumy roused herself for the tea. With loving 
hands Caroline straightened the heavy pillows 
and lifted the shrunken shoulders to a position of 
comfort. Maumy’s eyes swam with unshed tears. 

“ Lordy, Miss Car’line, but you’s a sight fer 
sore eyes. Now tell me all ’bout Miss Embly and 
the Major.” 

Fifteen minutes of conversation cheered 


138 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


Maumy, but Caroline soon realized that she was 
drooping and lowered the pillows. The old eyes 
closed wearily. When they opened again 
Maumy’s mind wandered for a minute. She 
couldn’t place Caroline. Her eyes strained until 
the yellow whites bulged. 

“ I war dreamin’,” she whispered, “ I war 
back with my fambly out in them Gord-forsaken 
mountains, talkin’ to little Miss.” She laughed 
softly — chuckled. “ Lil debil,” she murmured. 
“ She war a handful. Most wear ole Maumy out 
sometimes. Miss Car’line! Miss Car’line, y’-all 
git outen my cookey jar! Y’-all got to stop 
feedin’ that white trash down the road. I’se 
gwine tell Marse Major. Stop it now! ” 

Her voice had risen to a wild, pathetic wail. 
The door opened and Darwin’s wife entered. She 
went quickly toward the bed. Caroline looked up 
gladly. 

“ Stop now, Maumy,” Mandy said tenderly. 
“ Ain’t nothin’ gwine bother you. Miss Caroline, 
she done put the cookies back. You go long off 
to sleep again.” 

“ Is — is she like that often? ” Caroline asked; 
her face had grown white and tender. 

Mandy nodded. “ Yes’m, she ain’t herself 


139 


MAUMY RACHEL 

most of the time. Jes spells when she knows us. 
She ain’t far from the end now. Who is you, 
Miss, if I may ask? ” 

Caroline explained. Mandy made haste to wipe 
off a chair and pull it forward. 

“ Maumy knew you? ” she asked. 

“ Oh, yes, we had a nice visit.” 

Mandy nodded. “ It’s that-a-way sometimes, 
for a little while. Then she goes off again. We 
watches her mighty close. My cabin, hit’s jes 
over thar.” She pointed across the road. 
“ Darwin, he done built a new cabin for his 
mother, but she wouldn’t stay thar. She wanted 
to come back here where she could keep her eyes 
on the big house. Seem lak it meant a heap to 
her.” 

When Tevis came a few minutes later, Caroline 
had a hurried consultation with him on the porch. 

“ I think, if you don’t mind,” she said, “ I will 
stay here with Maumy to-night. There’s a nice 
easy chair where I can rest by the fire. I shall 
have so little time with her. You know” — 
for a moment she could not go on — 4 4 when 
we were little, and couldn’t help ourselves, Maumy 
always stood by us. It seems so little to spend 


140 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 

one night watching beside her. Perhaps she won’t 
know — but it will be a comfort to me.” 

Tevis reached out and patted her shoulder. 
“ Come with me and have your dinner, and I will 
bring you back,” he said. His voice was very 
sympathetic. “ I understand how you feel about 
it. We lost Julie last year. My old nurse.” 

Maumy was not very clear during the night. 
Once or twice she realized that it was Caroline 
sitting in the firelight watching her, and stretched 
forth a hand yearningly. 

“ I alias said you’d turn out the best of ’em all, 
Miss Caroline,” she said in one of those flashes. 
“ Yes’m. You’s the Major’s own chile. An 
you’s sweet like yer Maw. Miss Embly never 
scold me or lay a hand on me in my life; not even 
when I war young and rascally.” 

Then she would doze, and the firelight from the 
open door of the little stove would flicker on her 
peaceful face, giving it a sudden benignancy. It 
softened the stern mouth, it caressed the wrinkles 
about the closed eyes, brought out all that was 
best in the sunken face. Once, when Maumy 
wakened and asked for a drink of water, she mis¬ 
took the girl beside her for another Caroline, and 
babbled to her softly. 


MAUMY RACHEL 


141 


li Member that thar time, Miss Caroline, when 
we done hid Marse Gilbert from them soldiers up 
Norf? Member how w r e carried him ham and 
chicken and corn bread? No’m; no, Madame, I 
ain’t never gwine tell the Major and Miss Embly 
who you is — not if you make me promise. No’m 
— no’m.” This with a long sigh. 

Caroline paid but little heed. Maumy was 
dreaming; living over those days during the war. 
It was only when she murmured, “ But you ain’t 
gwine fool Little Miss long. Not if you stays on 
here; them sharp eyes o’ hem see through ever’- 
thing. I’se warnin’ you. You listen to ole 
Maumy Rachel.” 

Toward morning she grew very clear. 

“ I ain’t done no talking has I, Lammie? ” she 
asked, with startled interest. “ I ain’t say noth¬ 
ing I hadn’t ought to say? ” Caroline made haste 
to reassure her. 

After a while she asked, “ What ever become of 
that ole lady what live across the street from us 

out thar-” she nodded toward the West. 

“ Madame — Madame-” 

“ Wakefield, Maumy? ” 

“ Yes’m. Ain’t she died yet? She’s ole 
enough.” 




142 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


“ No, she is still living in England.” 

“ Well — when you sees her — tell her ole 
Maumy send her respects. She war a fine lady. 
Don’t you fergit, Miss Car’line. Maumy send her 
respects.” 

“ Yes, Maumy.” 

“ And Miss Leigh too. I always love Miss 
Leigh so, honey. She war half angel. And Miss 
Mayre and Miss Alison — all my fambly. I sends 
my — respects.” 

She was sleeping peacefully when Tevis came 
for Caroline in the morning. The sun was well 
up and the birds were singing in the apple tree by 
the front door. Caroline tiptoed to the bed and 
bending down, left a kiss on the black forehead. 

“ Thank you, Maumy dear,” she whispered 
softly, “ thank you for all you ever did for me — 
I shall never forget you.” 

It was the last time that she ever gazed upon 
the beloved face. 


CHAPTER X 
leigh’s home 

A LTHOUGH the visit to Alison had been gay 
and unusual, Caroline was quite ready to 
depart at the end of ten days. Tevis begged for 
a longer stay, and even Alison added her persua¬ 
sions, but to no avail. 

“ We really must be getting settled in New 
York,” Caroline declared, “ and there is the visit 
with Leigh. We cannot slight her after spending 
so long a time here.” 

Leigh’s home, after the cold formality of 
Alison’s, was a beckoning light. Caroline had 
long held visions of that snug place, for Leigh’s 
letters were full of it. She could scarcely wait 
to see the house with its old-fashioned treasures. 

She and Mayre arrived later one autumn after¬ 
noon ; a gray day, cold and blustery, but Blair and 
Leigh were both at the station to welcome them. 
Scarcely had she left the train when Leigh’s 
motherly arms encircled her, and warm kisses fell 
upon her face. 


i 


144 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ We thought that you were never going to get 
here,” was Blair’s cordial comment, as he loaded 
a Red Cap with bags and boxes. “ Mind taking 
the Sub? We haven’t a limousine, you know. It 
wouldn’t do us much good if we had — in this 
mob! ” 

They were out in the street now, in the deafen¬ 
ing roar that, more than anything else, spelled 
New York and progress. Caroline stopped in the 
shelter of a huge store and caught her breath. 

“ Mercy! ” she exclaimed, “ what Bedlam! 
Let me look a moment. WJiy, it’s a world gone 
mad! ” 

And so indeed it seemed. Just opposite, a 
building in the process of construction added to 
the turmoil with hissing steam and groaning der¬ 
ricks. Overhead a railway rattled and banged its 
perilous course along heavy tracks and crossings: 
bells rang; voices were raised in confusion. The 
streets were filled with traffic. Motor cars darted 
this way and that, bold yellow and checkered taxis 
threaded their way daringly between delivery cars 
and high, human-freighted busses. 

But out in the suburbs, in the sleepy little town 
that differed slightly from Caroline’s own West¬ 
ern town, she drew a sigh of relief. Dusk was 


145 


LEIGH’S HOME 

falling gently on cosy, unpretentious homes; lights 
gleamed a cheerful welcome in windows along the 
road (Blair’s little Lizzie was waiting at the sta¬ 
tion) as they sped along merrily. 

It was a happy and reunited party. Leigh’s 
arms encircled both her sisters, and now and then 
she gave them each a squeeze, to make sure they 
were real flesh and blood, not an hallucination. It 
had been so long since they were all together. 

And the house was just the kind of a house 
Caroline expected to find; large and commodious, 
set deep in its stately yard. They had scarcely 
reached the wide veranda when the front door was 
flung wide and a maid’s face peered out smilingly. 

“ Yes, we are here at last, Alice,” Leigh said, 
as if Alice were quite as much interested in the 
arrival as she herself. “ The train was nearly an 
hour late. These are the girls, my sisters. I 
hope dinner is ready. We are quite starved.” 

“ We are! ” Blair added, stirring the fire in the 
living room and warming his hands before the 
leaping blaze. “ Let’s not wait for frills, Alice. 
The girls are home folks.” 

There was a hasty retreat to the guest chamber 
on the floor above, a superficial cleansing of hands 
and faces, and then a quick return to the dining 


146 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

room where another tire blazed on the ample 
hearth. 

Caroline leaned back in the handsome old chair 
that had once belonged to Blair’s grandmother 
and sighed happily. 

44 To think that we are really here, Leigh, in 
your home! What’s the definition of a home, 
anyway? Anybody ever look it up? ” 

44 Yes; I did once — in fact, quite recently, 
while we were at Alison’s.” It was Mayre who 
spoke, her face flushed and happy. 44 I looked in 
the big Dick in Tevis’s den. The place had been 
marked. It had a blue circle around it. 4 The 
abiding place of the affections,’ it said, or some¬ 
thing like that.” 

Caroline bent unnecessarily low over her soup 
and Mayre looked as if she wished she had not 
spoken. 

4 4 4 It takes a heap o ’ livin ’ in a house to make it 
home,’ ” Blair quoted. 44 Found the McElroys 
well, I presume? Fine chap, Tevis. Run on him 
occasionally in New York. Had him out to dine 
with us last time he turned up.” 

There was no mention of Alison. Leigh had 
inquired after her at the station. There was a 
long visit before the fire in the living room after 


LEIGH’S HOME 


147 


dinner: home news, small-town gossip, Caroline 
called it. Leigh and Blair were both interested. 
Blair asked, “ How about Jimmy; how is he 
looking? ” 

“ Perfectly stunning in his soldier clothes,’’ 
Mayre answered, to Caroline’s delight. She could 
not speak of Jimmy. Not to his cousin, anyway. 
She knew that Blair quite adored him, would want 
all the details. 

But it was later, upstairs in Leigh’s tiny sitting- 
room with its soft lights and deep cushioned 
chairs, that the real heart-to-heart visit came. 
Mayre had retired, and Blair was finishing his 
evening smoke and paper downstairs. 

“ Caroline,” Leigh said, going to her writing 
desk and taking out a letter, “ I am so sorry, dear, 
but I have some news that will distress you, I 
fear-” 

Caroline’s heart bounded and stood still. 

“ Not Major! He is well! ” 

“ Yes, darling, he is well. It is Maumy, Caro¬ 
line. Please do not be too upset. I thought best 
to tell you right away — so that we can go on 
with our visit happily. ’ ’ 

Caroline took the letter from the envelope and 
read it slowly, scarcely comprehending at first. 



148 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


“ Is it from Mandy? ” she asked. Mandy 
wrote very well, considering her limited educa¬ 
tion. 

Dear Miss Leigh [the letter began]: 

I takes my pen in hand to inform you that Dar¬ 
win’s mother, Rachel, your old nurse, passed away 
last Sunday morning or sometime in the night. 
We don’t know just when. Miss Caroline, she 
was with her, but I expects she thought Maumy 
was just sleeping and didn’t try to wake her. 
Darwin is all broke up, for he loved his mother, 
but it was a wonderful way to go after all her pain 
and everything. She had been mighty restless 
for some time, talking a heap about you all, espe¬ 
cially Miss Caroline, who, excuse me, Miss Leigh, 
for saying it, was always her favorite, lest it was 
Marse Major. Seem like after Miss Caroline 
come in that afternoon she was satisfied to go. 
They had a good visit, and Miss Caroline she 
stayed all night a heating her flannel and her 
potato which she thought helped her rheumatiz. 
Maybe when you see Miss Caroline she can give 
you more particulars. The funeral was on Tues¬ 
day from the Baptist church. You know Maumy 
always wanted to be buried from the big yaller 
house you all lived in so long, but I didn’t darse 
ask the new owner, so we done the best we could. 
She leave considerable fortune to Darwin and the 
children. A thousand dollars in the saving bank 
and five hundred dollars done up in a old handker¬ 
chief in the bottom of the flour bar’l underneath 


LEIGH’S HOME 


149 


the flour. I got a suspicion thar was something 
thar, for she was so tetchy like bout my going near 
the barl. She wasn’t always herself toward the 
last and she say something bout a ole lady givin’ 
her some money one time. I reckon maybe that 
was it. I will send it to Marse Major if you say 
so, though I done know she want the chillun to 
have it. 

I hope you all won’t feel bad as she was awful 
ole and her jints aked consid’able. Seem like she 
wanted to go, but was just waiting for something, 
Miss Caroline, maybe. The good Lord He’s got 
his own way bout managin’ things. I sens my 
respects to you all and hopes if you ever come this 
way you won’t ferget to let us see you. 

Respectfully, 

Mandy Jones. 

Caroline raised burning eyes from the letter. 
Slowly tears gathered and trickled down her 
cheeks. She made no effort to check them. 
Presently she said with a sigh, “ Dear, dear old 
Maumy. How much we owe her, Leigh! And to 
think I could do those last little things for her 
after the years she served us. I knew she wanted 
me. She said when I warmed the flannel, 1 Cain’t 
y’ all set awhile, Miss Caroline? The nights get 
so long; Mandy does the best she can, but the 

flannels need warming up.’ ” 

“ Of course, I stayed. She was restless for 


150 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


awhile, and I sat beside her — singing her old 
nursery songs — the ones she used to put us to 
sleep by: you remember — ‘ The wind is in the 
west; the turkey’s in his nest — sleep — sleep — 
sleep/ Sometimes I patted her a little — old 
people are so like little children when they are ill 
— and toward morning she dropped into such a 
quiet, sweet rest. Oh, Leigh, I can’t believe she’s 
gone, blessed old Maumy. But I am so thankful I 
was with her. I can never be thankful enough. 
Perhaps she was waiting for some of us — her 
own folks, who knows? ” 

“ Perhaps, dear; who indeed? ” 

“ And she didn’t come out the front door of the 
old house — the last time — as she always longed 
to come, did she? And she didn’t have the roses 

and the sheaf of wheat-” 

“ Oh, yes, she did,” Leigh answered softly. 
“ I knew the end was near, and I wrote to Miss 
Jennie Pandolf — sent her some money. Maumy 

had her flowers, plenty of them-” 

“ Leigh! ” The words were scarcely audible. 
“ How wonderful you are! Do you ever forget 
anything? ” 

4 ‘ Many things, dear, but not kindness — I hope. 
Please, now, let us not be unhappy. Maumy’s 




LEIGH’S HOME 


151 


had her little day — just as we all have it. She 
made the world better for passing through it. Let 
us be happy for her, not sorrowful.” 

The week at Leigh’s passed like a happy dream. 
Years later Caroline remembered those fleeting 
hours with profit and understanding. Leigh was 
not only a good wife and sister; she was a good 
neighbor. Sometimes Caroline marveled at her 
courage, for Leigh still looked frail. 

Yet she always found time to do for others. 
Either it was Mrs. Brooks, the charming young 
matron next door, running in with Billy, her in¬ 
fant son, saying, “ Mrs. Newland, I know it is an 
awful imposition, but could I leave Billy with you 
for an hour while I go to market; that dreadful 
Ted of mine just telephoned that he is bringing 
guests to dinner, and not a thing in the house.’’ 
Or, 4 4 Would you have time to cut that pattern for 
me that we were speaking of yesterday! ” Or 
some one across the street would ask if Mrs. New¬ 
land could go shopping, she “ did so want her 
advice about those linens.” 

And, almost always, Leigh found time. Some¬ 
times Blair would scold, but she would answer, 
“ Now that’s perfectly all right, dear. I ask 


152 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

favors too, yon know. I can’t let people be kinder 
to me than I am to them. ’ ’ 

Caroline enjoyed the neighbors. She liked hav¬ 
ing them drop in for afternoon tea — the hour 
when Alice drew together the heavy velvet cur¬ 
tains at the living-room door and stirred the fire 
to its ruddiest hue. She liked romping with the 
children who came with their mothers; enjoyed 
filling their plump little hands with Leigh’s fresh 
hermits, made as Maumy used to make them. Best 
of all, perhaps, she liked the cosy evenings when 
the young married people dropped in for a game 
of bridge or an informal dance. College men 
and women, most of them, and the conversation 
invariably turned to the big games, fraternity life 
and experiences. Two weeks slipped by without 
any one’s dreaming they had passed until Caro¬ 
line was one morning confronted with the calen¬ 
dar. Then she began to repack the wardrobe 
trunk that had been emptied and sent to the attic. 
But she was not really leaving Leigh. It would 
be so easy to reach her when she needed counsel, 
so easy to run over for week-end visits. And 
Leigh would drop in for lunch when she came to 
the city to shop. They were going to be wonder- 


LEIGH’S HOME 153 

fully chummy and companionable — after work¬ 
ing hours! 

Blair, bom and reared in New York, had sug¬ 
gestions relative to a studio. 

“ I don’t think I want to see you too close to 
Washington Square,” he said one evening, when 
the subject came up, and Caroline answered 
briskly, “ But that’s just where we want to be: in 
the thick of things — the artists ’ colony. ’ ’ 

“ I have an old aunt in Irving Place,” Blair 
went on, as if he were making the arrangements, 
not Caroline, “ who doesn’t use half her house. 
I’ve been wondering if she would let you and 
May re have a couple of rooms. I fancy it 
wouldn’t bother her any; she’s almost stone deaf 
and not too opulent. Perhaps-” 

“ We might see her when we go into the city 
to-morrow,” Caroline capitulated, not wishing to 
seem ungrateful. 

Blair took his lunch hour to go with her and 
Mayre, and Leigh went along. She and Blair, 
knowing New York and its environs, were deeply 
interested in that studio venture. They had their 
own ideas on the subject. 

Irving Place proved a quiet, self-respecting 
street with three-story houses wedged in between 



154 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


apartments and candy factories, yet savoring a 
little of aristocracy, with Gramercy Park but a 
block away. 

Miss Pell, a maiden lady of some seventy sum¬ 
mers, opened the door herself and welcomed her 
nephew warmly. Then she adjusted her ear 
trumpet and inquired his errand. It was evident 
that Blair did not often honor her with his 
presence. 

The matter of letting a room or two was put to 
her. She seemed embarrassed. She had never 
let rooms, of course, few did in Irving Place; but 
she would be most happy to entertain the young 
ladies during their stay in New York. 

Blair, shouting into the trumpet, explained that 
they were locating permanently in New York and 
desired a quiet, respectable place where they 
could carry on their work. One was an artist — 
the other a writer. 

Miss Pell considered. The top floor was un¬ 
tenanted, but it was little more than attic, one 
large room running the entire length of the house, 
lighted for the most part by an improvised 
skylight. 

“ You aren’t using the third story now, are you, 
Aunt Sophia? ” Blair howled into the trumpet. 


LEIGH’S HOME 


155 


Miss Pell was obliged to shake her head. 

“ I really don’t think the young ladies would 
annoy you in the least. Could we have a look 
at it? ” 

Of course they could look. Together they 
climbed the long flight of stairs that led to the 
top of the house. . Miss Pell shook a heavy door 
that yielded only when Blair lent his strength. 

It was a musty cobwebby place, but Mayre saw 
the skylight and clasped her hands together 
ecstatically. Caroline took in the length of the 
room, fitted the old Kirtley sofa in one corner, 
Great-aunt Caroline’s picture in the space be¬ 
tween the two small windows and slipped her arm 
through Miss Pell’s hopefully. 

“ If you would only try us,” she coaxed, with 
the smile that never failed to win, “ we would be 
quiet as mice — and very grateful.” 

In the end Miss Pell promised to have the place 
cleaned and put in order. She was not sure about 
the rent — what would be a fair price; Blair could 
make inquiry and let her know. 

Caroline’s happy feet fairly danced down the 
aged walnut stairs. That old attic room, barn¬ 
like and cold, meant accomplishment. There she 
could think and write and dream, wrest her future 


156 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


from its solitude. At last the way had opened. 
Life stretched before her in a rosy mist. It 
seemed to her as she hurried back through the 
crowds, helping Leigh over perilous crossings 
(Blair had returned to his office) that it was just 
beginning for her, that up to the present she had 
been learning how to live, like an infant taking 
his first steps, helped by his mother’s hand. 
Henceforth she would walk alone — unaided. In 
the corners of that dim old room success was 
awaiting her. 


CHAPTER XI 


NEW YORK 

S PRING was late in New York. It lagged and 
frowned. From the eaves of Miss Pell’s attic 
windows water dripped mournfully, and the wind, 
resting for awhile, swept down the street with 
added force. 

Caroline Ravenel, bending over a kitchen table 
which she had turned into a desk, drew a woolen 
shawl closer about her shoulders and for the third 
time tried to concentrate upon the work before 
her. 

“ Aren’t you cold, dear? ” Mayre asked from 
her corner across the room. “ I really think we 
should get more coal; spring seems a long way off 
yet. Have you your sweater on? ” 

Caroline nodded and, lifting a corner of the 
shawl, disclosed the thick jacket. For a moment 
the click, click of her infant typewriter was the 
only sound that competed with wind and water. 
Mayre sketched in silence. Presently she rose, 
shivering, and taking the poker stirred the coals 


158 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


in the tiny stove that, ugly and inefficient, accentu¬ 
ated the barrenness of the room. Barren, despite 
the Kirtley sofa and Great-aunt Caroline’s por¬ 
trait. The stove jutted obtrusively from the 
north wall and a screened kitchen cabinet (which 
Mayre had painted gray with a vine of morning- 
glories wandering serenely around the border) 
kept it company. The sofa faced the stove, a bit 
rebelliously, Caroline sometimes thought, con¬ 
sidering its former grandeur, and at the other 
end of the room, a folding bed reared its stalwart 
head,— a bed that was at once a comfort and 
an eyesore. 

u We couldn’t have our friends up here if we 
didn’t have it,” Caroline always remarked, when 
Mayre condemned its lines and length. “ It’s 
comfortable too, which is more than you can say 
of couches. I know. I’ve tried them. Used to 
have one on the porch at the Sorority house. The 
mattress was always sliding to the floor and the 
covers dragging with it.” 

Beyond the stove, obscured by a Japanese 
screen a little the worse for wear (Mayre had dis¬ 
covered it in a second-hand shop), there was 
another kitchen table, neatly covered with a white 
oilcloth, and, adjacent (so near that, seated at 


NEW YORK 


159 


the table one could reach out and comfortably turn 
a pancake or a chop), an electric plate. It stood 
on a wide shelf that served as a sink and pot 
receptacle; it also held an assortment of mixing 
bowls. 

The room was not the cosy place that Caroline 
has pictured it in the first flush of her enthusiasm, 
but it answered all purposes and was easy to keep 
in order. Rising early, she made the fire, pre¬ 
pared the coffee and toast, swept a little around 
her own desk and Mayre’s easel, then went dili¬ 
gently to work while Mayre washed the cups and 
plates and the white oilcloth on the table. 

It was a simple system of housekeeping and 
quite consistent with the life that went on in the 
room. 

“ It isn’t as if we weren’t used to better 
things,” Mayre once sighed as she dried the oil¬ 
cloth and restored the cups to the nails above 
the shelf. “And we have those pretty blue dishes 
in the cabinet for tea and an occasional supper.” 

There was another ornament to the space be¬ 
hind the screen. It hung from a nail underneath 
the shelf and was only taken down on Monday 
morning and set on a two-legged bench furnished 
from the basement; a round corrugated washtub 


160 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


innocent of board, for Caroline had discarded its 
offspring the first time she rubbed the skin from 
her delicate knuckles. 

But for all the place was barren and ugly, there 
was a touch of home about it. Red geraniums 
bloomed in the high, deep-silled windows; cheap, 
but decorative Japanese curtains hung, scant and 
colorful, at the sides; portieres camouflaged a 
closet, from which Mayre’s little, high-heeled, 
black satin mules, or the toes of Caroline’s heavier 
tan walking shoes, were always peeping. 

Sometimes one caught a glimpse of a bright 
kimono or a gay little petticoat thrown across one 
of the gray kitchen chairs, or, curled contentedly 
on a round cushion, a portly black cat that had 
strayed from Miss Pell’s basement. 

Sometimes Miss Williams — Miss Pell had 
dignified her with the name in memory of a former 
neighbor — left the cushion and perched herself 
on Caroline’s desk to drowse in the shifting sun¬ 
shine or blink to the click of Caroline’s keys as 
her busy fingers raced over the machine. She was 
a comfortable, responsive creature and a welcome 
guest whenever she chose to come to the 
“ studio.” 

“ Maumy used to say a black cat was such a 


NEW YORK 


161 


good mascot,” Mayre once said as she stroked 
the silky fur — Miss Williams was half Angora — 
“ and I think it’s rather a good omen that she 
has adopted us.” Maumy’s sacred teachings 
would never be altogether obliterated from belief 
and memory. 

But if Miss Williams were the forerunner of 
success, she was far in advance of her mission. 
Six months had passed since Caroline had first 
pressed Miss Pell for an answer in regard to her 
attic, six long discouraging months, yet not with¬ 
out interest and accomplishment. 

Things had gone rather well at first. There 
were few worries so long as Caroline’s treasured 
bank account lasted,— for Caroline was the pro¬ 
vider. To her the Major had entrusted his offer¬ 
ing of three hundred dollars with the request that 
she write to him for more when the amount was 
exhausted. But Caroline had no intention of 
asking for more, not so long as the thoughts that 
raced in her busy brain were clear and market¬ 
able. 

It was strange how the money had taken wings, 
but with “ everything going out and nothin’ 
cornin’ in,” as Maumy used to say, one could, 
after all, understand. There was the rent, small 


162 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


and reasonable to be sure — twenty-five dollars 
a month — and the coal, not a heavy item, but a 
persistent one; kindling too, in small quantities; 
provisions; butter and flour and eggs with an 
occasional steak, or chops. It was amazing how 
fast money could be eaten up, literally, for meat 
and eggs in New York had their own intrinsic 
value. Or perhaps Caroline thought they were 
higher, paid for. They had so long been accepted 
at home in barter for her father’s skill. But now, 
seventy-five cents for a little steak that served 
two stingily, and fifty for three or four chops that 
merely encouraged one’s appetite, never satisfied 
it, seemed an extravagance beyond their simple 
needs. 

And Caroline, who kept the purse strings in her 
own capable hands, had her subterfuges. Mayre 
must be looked after and indulged at any cost; 
Mayre, never too robust, who had given up her 
comfortable room at home to come with her to 
seek a fortune. It was Mayre who slept on the 
side of the bed next to the stove, away from the 
window; Mayre who always had an egg at break¬ 
fast, who took a bus or subway while Caroline 
walked. Not that she was selfish. She was simply 
ignorant of the dwindling purse; she seldom got 


NEW YORK 


163 


beneath the Kirtley shell that shut out Caroline’s 
inner self and motives. A gentle dignity served 
as bars. Sometimes Mayre resented it; sometimes 
she deplored it, but always she respected it and 
held her peace. 

“ You aren’t eating enough,” Mayre would 
sometimes complain, when Caroline urged upon 
her a second helping. “ You are getting too 
thin.” To which Caroline would reply, “I’m 
keeping my ‘ figger ’ down, my dear, so that you 
can put me into those screens you are painting. 
I’m like the wife of poor old Andrea Del Sarto. 
I serve for the models you require.” And she 
would laugh and stretch her slender shoulders in 
the blue, serge frock that hung in straight becom¬ 
ing lines, girdled only by an odd silver chain that 
gave it distinction. 

But Leigh understood. Sometimes she and 
Alice came in laden with a basket full of goodies; 
home-baked bread and pies; fruits and jellies; 
sometimes a large round cake that Caroline de¬ 
clared w T as “ blousy with chocolate! ” Those were 
feast days, so regularly followed by laziness and 
indigestion that Caroline begged for less indul¬ 
gence. 

Leigh was such a comfort. It was so good to 


164 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


know that she was over there just across the river, 
though Caroline and Mayre did not see half 
enough of her. There was always the matter of 
carfare — a small item, but one to be reckoned 
with — and the loss of time from the studio. 
There was a chance of some one answering the 
concisely worded advertisement that semi-occa- 
sionally appeared in the World or Times . 

The Misses Ravenel — Irving Place. Screens 
decorated for boudoirs and fireplaces. Manu¬ 
scripts of novels, short stories and plays cor¬ 
rected, edited and typed. 

It was a bold announcement; the latter half 
sometimes took Caroline’s own breath away, but 
she knew her ground. She read many stories in 
magazines that she felt she could improve in style 
and technique, if she couldn’t sell her own. But 
she was not discouraged. There was another old 
saying of Maumy’s — how often they came to 
mind now that she was gone — ‘ A bad beginning 
makes a good ending.’ She was slow in making 
a start, that was all. Success still played with her 
in the dark recesses of the cold, bleak room. Some¬ 
times it came out and laughed with her and winked 
and beckoned; sometimes it disappeared in sullen 


NEW YORK 


165 


silence. That was when she, herself, was moody 
and weak-hearted. 

Mayre had been a trifle more fortunate. Two 
or three orders had come her way. She was busy 
with one this minute, holding to the light a sample 
of soft green satin to catch the tones in paint. 
It was a screen she was working upon, a tall, 
three-sided affair with nymphs dancing across a 
daisied landscape, a mild blue sky overhead. She 
had asked fifty dollars for the work, but her 
patron, a fat foreign dowager, had brought the 
price down to twenty-five. She sighed as she came 
back from the stove and seated herself at her work 
again. 

Caroline’s typewriter continued to race. 
Finally she came down upon a letter with a bang 
and turned in her seat. 

“ There! ” she cried, w T aving a blue-looking 
hand in the air. “ That’s done, and Mr. Morrow 
can take it or leave it as he likes. Wasn’t there 
a stick of kindling, honey? It is rather coldish, 
isn’t it? ” 

“I’m freezing, Caroline.” 

Caroline walked over to the window. She stood 
looking out for a minute and turned with a smile. 


166 CAROLINE S CAREER 

“ It’s going to clear,” she said; “ I feel it in my 
bones.” 

“ I thought you only felt it in your bones when 
it was going to pour,” Mayre answered with a 
wry smile. Mayre was very pretty when she 
smiled. She had a habit of screwing her lip to 
one side which produced a dimple in her pink 
cheek. Her teeth, too, were very white and even, 
and, although she was two years Caroline’s senior, 
she looked three or four years younger. 

Caroline came back from the window and stood 
before the screen. 

“ It’s lovely,” she said, edging away to better 
the effect. “ Those girls are really dancing. 
There’s movement in those feet.” 

She broke off suddenly and frowned. “ You 
were an awful goose to let it go for twenty-five 
dollars. I wish I had been here; I should never 
have permitted it.” 

“ But Caroline, she was so big and — and-” 

“ Persuasive. Yes, I suppose so. But after 
this, say you will speak with your sister about the 
price.” 

“ But that’s so childish.” 

“ No, I am firmer, that’s all. But never mind; 
maybe she will tell others.” 



NEW YORK 


167 


44 She has; there’s an address in my pocket- 
book. I was to call this morning; one of those 
fashionable places in Fifty-eighth Street where 
they are remodeling tenements. Oh, Caroline, 
don’t yon want to go up and have a look for me? 
Tell me what she wants done? I must finish this 
thing, now, while the mood’s on.” 

44 But you are almost done.” 

4 4 Nearly; I don’t just like this foot” — she 
lightly touched one of the maidens with her brush. 
44 You were going to see Mr. Morrow, anyway.” 

44 Yes; well, all right, give me the number.” 

May re joyfully ran to her purse. 44 You’re a 
dear,” she said, as she searched among papers 
and coins. 44 Those rich people scare me to death. 
You are different. They always seem afraid of 
you.” 

44 You imagine that.” 

44 Not at all. You have such a way of crushing 
them when they presume. I don’t know what it 
is — something in your eyes and the way you draw 
up your shoulders — like father. It’s a look that 
says — 4 So far and no farther, if you please.’ Oh, 
here it is at last: Mrs. Abner Van Tyne. She 
said to call between eleven and twelve in the morn¬ 
ing. You just have time to make it if you hurry.” 


168 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Caroline pulled aside the curtain that obscured 
her winter coat and best street hat. Donning 
them, she paused for a moment before the small 
cracked mirror that hung above a chest of drawers 
and fastened a fur collar snug about her throat. 
It was very becoming, that bit of fur the Major 
had insisted upon buying for her; golden beaver 
that nestled against her brown neck and deepened 
the tan in her yellow eyes. A strip of it had found 
its way to the brown hat that she pulled down 
over her thick glossy hair, leaving saucy tendrils 
to defy the rain and wind. 

“ Mrs. Abner Van Tyne will think royalty is 
descending upon her,” Mayre said, reaching up 
for a good-by kiss. “ You always look so aristo¬ 
cratic and well-bred — perhaps because you are 
tall,” she finished admiringly. “ Little people 
are never commanding.” She smiled as she 
dropped back in the gray kitchen chair. 

Caroline gathered up her papers, rolled them 
together and secured them with a rubber band. 

“ Make yourself some tea, won’t you? ” she 
called from the door, “ and there’s plenty of 
Leigh’s strawberry jam left for your bread. Eat 
it, please. Don’t leave it round to tempt me, or 


NEW YORK 169 

you’ll have to find a new model. Nobody ever saw 
a fat nymph! ” 

She closed the door, and May re heard her laugh 
as she clattered down the bare stairs. 

The wind had halted a little as Caroline reached 
the front door, and the rain had changed to snow; 
wet, blustery flakes, half drizzle. She turned to¬ 
ward the subway and reluctantly got out her car¬ 
fare. “ I think you’ve got your nerve,” she said, 
glancing up at the drifting gray clouds, “ to act 
like this in March; making people travel under¬ 
ground when they might be atop a bus. ’ ’ 

The Fifth Avenue busses were Caroline’s 
special delight. She adored climbing the crooked 
little stairway that led to the top, lurching for¬ 
ward to a seat. It was interesting, even on cold 
days, to look down on the horde of human beings 
darting in and out below, to do her window shop¬ 
ping from such an advantageous point; to ponder 
on the discontented faces that rose above a wealth 
of furs in costly limousines, watch the cabs dare 
traffic and surface cars. But there was no such 
luxury to-day. Time and weather forbade. The 
wind was still shrieking when she reached her 
destination and turned in at the quaint door set 
in its frame of dull brick. 


170 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Miss Ravenel,” she said to the man who ad¬ 
mitted her. “ Please say to Mrs. Van Tyne that 
I have come to see about the decorating she wants 
done.” 

She followed him through the dimly lighted hall 
to the room beyond. It made her think of a candy 
box, with its flowing lace curtains and ornate 
furniture. Groping her way to a far comer she 
sat down on a low sofa that stretched its velvet 
length before an artificial fire. 

The place was very silent, and for a few 
moments she amused herself taking in the details 
of the overcrowded room. It was typical of sev¬ 
eral she had seen during her short stay in New 
York, — pretentious, with a nouveau riche atmos¬ 
phere that grated upon her simple taste. There 
were gilded cabinets that held miniature elephants 
and lions skilfully carved in ivory; costly bric-a- 
brac. The walls were hung with pictures, ponder¬ 
ous paintings that choked restful spaces; rugs 
lapped one another; marble pedestals held snowy 
statuary — Psyche in the arms of Cupid and 
Hermes looking like a glorified buddy. 

She was sitting quietly, her hands, encased in 
rather shabby gloves, crossed complacently in her 
lap, when a slight noise aroused her from revery. 


NEW YORK 


171 


She turned, almost hidden by the dim light and 
high-backed sofa, to see a boy of some five or 
six years pause and peer into the room question- 
ingly. He came a step forward and his dark 
handsome eyes took a sweeping glance. Then he 
darted back again and looked down the hall. 
Caroline, unobserved in her dark corner, watched 
him with interest. 

Evidently convincing himself that he was safe 
from prying eyes, he dropped down on his knees 
and spread a newspaper before him. Then, from 
his coat pockets he began to dislodge sand, loose 
golden sand so dear to every childish heart. For 
a moment he played with it, letting it trickle 
through his fingers, smiling as the grains tinkled 
on the paper. Suddenly, with one of his quick 
furtive movements, he darted toward a growing 
palm and brought forth a small stick, evidently 
cached away for this very moment. 

He laughed as he squatted again before the 
newspaper and vigorously spat into the sand, 
Then with the stick he began to mix sand and 
saliva, stirring and heaping, shaping and pat¬ 
ting, — happy and absorbed. 

For a moment Caroline could not fathom his 
antics, then all at once she understood. He was 


172 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


making mnd pies! Mud pies in his gilded cage, 
in his candy-box home. 

She wanted to go over to him, kneel down and 
help him mold and fuss, but before she had quite 
made up her mind, a step on the stair startled 
them both. The boy bent low over his paper, 
trying to hide it from view, but his mother’s 
sharp eyes were too quick for him. 

Her peremptory, “ Styverson! ” brought him 
to his feet with a bound. He hung his handsome 
head in shame. 

Caroline had risen, coming forward with a 
smile. Mrs. Van Tyne pushed a button near the 
door. 

“ Remove this litter,” she said to the maid 
who appeared almost instantly, “ and take 
Styverson to the nursery. See that his hands 
are scrubbed and his nails cleaned and polished.” 

She turned to Caroline with an apologetic 
laugh. 

“It is amazing, the things children will do,” 
she remarked. “ Sometimes I think Styverson 
the most unnatural child in the world.” 

“ Unnatural! I was just thinking how very 
sane and normal he was! ” The words came from 


NEW YORK 


173 


Caroline’s lips before she thought. Then, a bit 
confused, she made known her errand. 

She saw the child again, later. He had been 
taken to the nursery which Mrs. Van Tyne wanted 
redecorated. He was standing listlessly before 
a window, watching the storm, his hands thrust 
in his empty pockets. He did not turn as they 
entered the room and Caroline suspected that his 
eyes were wet. His mother paid no attention, 
chatting about the birds and animals she wanted 
refreshed in the strip that served as border to the 
room, and of the screens in her sitting room on 
the floor below. 

Caroline’s glance strayed from the room filled 
with costly toys and furnishings to the drooping 
child at the window. She wondered why people 
reared children in a crowded city, and her 
thoughts shot over the little dark head pressed 
against the pane on out to the West; to wide, open 
spaces, wind-swept and free; to children digging 
in Nature’s sand piles, or galloping on their ponies 
out toward the mesa, their curls flying in the 
breeze. 

The mesa- 

She turned again to Mrs. Van Tyne, conscious 
of the crimson stain that dyed her face. 



174 CAROLINES CAREER 

“ I will bring my sister to see the work on Mon¬ 
day, ’ 9 she said rather hurriedly. “ I’m quite sure 
you will find her reasonable and satisfactory .’ 9 

She was well down the street when the flush 
died. She had resolutely turned her thoughts to 
the next encounter — with Mr. William Morrow. 


CHAPTER XII 


CAROLINE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 

B UT though she had persistently turned her 
thoughts from Jimmy Ludlow, she could not 
shake off visions of towering mountains, monu¬ 
mental sand piles and blue arching skies. A verse 
beat in upon her brain, sung itself into her heart: 

Out where the handclasp’s a little stronger, 
Out where the smile dwells a little longer, 
That’s where the West begins; 

Out where the sun is a little brighter, 

Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter, 
Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter, 
That’s where the West begins. 

Sometimes she longed so for that big beautiful 
West. Sometimes she wondered why she had 
stayed on in the East, cooped up in Miss Pell’s 
musty attic, courting the will of the gods. Some¬ 
times it all seemed so futile, — this morning, with 
the coal sack empty again and the cupboard in 
need of replenishment. 

In those early dreams of success she had not 


176 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

figured on bodily wants and comforts. When one 
has never known poverty, one scarcely contem¬ 
plates it. At home, though money was often 
scarce, the flour bin was never empty, and always 
there were vegetables and fruits in abundance. 
Maumy used to rebel occasionally — when Leigh, 
watching the bills, cut out roast ham and bacon 
for breakfast, saying, “ Miss Leigh, we’se got to 
have it; we belong to folks that jus has to has!” 

But there were always so many things, with 
love to leaven them. Now it was all so different. 

The snow was beating in her face as she stood 
on the corner and contemplated the ten blocks 
that would take her to William Morrow’s office. 
Should she spend the money, the paltry amount 
that would shoot her through the subway and land 
her there in five minutes, or should she brave the 
icy wind and plow on with the chance of missing 
him? 

She felt of the soft knitted purse in her deep 
coat pocket. It was pathetically lean; pennies 
scraped against quarters and dimes. She knew 
the contents without looking. Seventy-six cents, 
to be exact — and coal and food to buy. She chose 
the pavement and started on, as speedily as the 
wflnd and snow would permit. 


CAROLINE MEETS A FRIEND 177 

Mr. Morrow was leaving the office as she 
entered. He greeted her with a pleasant smile. 
He was a young man, tall and lean of face hut 
with kindly blue eyes that seemed to appraise 
one’s capacity at a glance. 

“ Sorry, Miss Ravenel, but I’ve an appoint¬ 
ment in five minutes. Want to see you too. Could 
you wait — or will you shop until early after¬ 
noon? I can promise you a few minutes at two.” 

Caroline hesitated but a moment. She would 
attend to some errands and come back. She turned 
into Fifth Avenue and walked close to the plate- 
glass windows, sheltered by awning and door¬ 
ways. The wind was dying, snow giving place to 
rain. She had left her umbrella, a useless encum¬ 
brance in a wind storm, and the glistening drops 
pelted her rough storm coat. She had been 
foolish, she thought, not to wait in Mr. Morrow’s 
warm office. There were always magazines and 
papers to while away the time. 

She had reached one of the large dry-goods 
stores and was making her way to the book de¬ 
partment — a favorite retreat — when some one 
caught her arm, and an eager voice said: 

“ Caroline Ravenel! I never saw such sprint¬ 
ing in my life. I’ve been trying to catch you for a 


178 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


block. Made me think of those marathons you 
used to run for your eight o’clock at Cal! How 
are you, anyway ? ’ ’ 

It was her erstwhile roommate, Susan Stirling. 

Although it was the noon hour and the aisles 
crowded with shoppers there was an ecstatic 
greeting. Caroline returned Susan’s kiss with 
feeling. They stood for a moment, laughing and 
looking into each other’s eyes. It was Susan who 
found voice first. 

44 My word, Cal dear,” she said with a familiar¬ 
ity that warmed Caroline’s heart, 44 what’s the 
matter with you — you are so thin, but lovely 
as ever, I must say.” 

44 Thanks a lot! You are able to be about your¬ 
self, I take it.” Again they laughed, linked arms 
and strolled on. 

44 Where are you going? ” It was Susan who 
asked the question. 

4 4 Just loafing for an hour. Have an appoint¬ 
ment at two.” 

4 4 Fine! What’s the matter with having lunch 
together? ” 

Caroline’s hand again pressed her lean purse. 

44 I really don’t think I could eat lunch, Susan. 
I had a late breakfast.” 


CAROLINE MEETS A FRIEND 179 

“ Nonsense! You’re going to come along with 
me. My treat. Let’s go over to Schrafft’s. I’m 
crazy about their coffee and date muffins.” 

It was useless to protest, Susan had her arm 
through Caroline’s and was pulling her along. 

4 ‘ All right, nothing more then — just the muf¬ 
fins. They do sound good.” 

Across the little table which held two so cosily, 
Caroline viewed her old friend with pleasure. 
Susan had changed but little, a trifle older, more 
careless if anything in appearance, more cordial 
and winning. 

Caroline noted the clumsy dull green coat with 
its hard horn buttons, the rakish hat from which 
wisps of wet, taffy-colored hair straggled, the 
merry,'bright eyes, and wide friendly smile. How 
well she remembered her first introduction — up 
in the Sorority bedroom, when Susan had burst 
in upon her with her day’s find — a long wiggly 
snake. 

“ Doing any bug and beetle hunting these days, 
Susan? ” she inquired. 

Susan shook her head. “ No, I don’t get out 
much. Of course you know I’m working — at 
Columbia. Teaching a bit on the side. Luck’s 
coming my way at last.” 


180 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


She leaned closer (the near-by tables were 
crowded) and laid a warm hand on Caroline’s. 
“ Funniest thing happened,” she said in a low 
voice. “ Dad’s married again. Can you beat it? 
Fifty-six last spring. To a peach of a woman — 
a cunning little old maid who thinks the sun rises 
and sets in him. And — she likes me too. That’s 
the queer part. Quite crazy about me, Dad says.” 
She spoke in her old staccato tones. 

“ Susan, how splendid! ” 

“ Isn’t it? ” She lifted her head and her eyes 
shone. “ Very thing I needed. Mother. You 
ought to see how she’s fixed me up. Clothes and 
everything. Oh, this — I know I’m a mess this 
morning, but I had to fly. But my room. At 
home. You’d think I was a debutante. All pink 
and white, with ruffly filimijigs at the windows, 
and wicker fluff dubs — cushioned chairs, you 
know. Great! And my own bath.” 

“ I hope you don’t turn snakes into it! ” 

“ Sometimes. She doesn’t mind. She’s some¬ 
thing of a scientist herself. That’s how she 
caught Dad. In one of his classes. Funniest 
thing ever.” 

“ Has she — means? ” 

“ Money? My dear — scads! And she’s 


CAROLINE MEETS A FRIEND 181 

generous. Fancy me with an allowance! Remem¬ 
ber how I used to borrow your clothes? ” 

“ I’m afraid I do, Susan.’’ 

“ Well, if you ever need a lift, come to me. 
Turn about’s fair play.” 

It was ten minutes of two when they parted, 
with promises of an early visit. Caroline turned 
toward Mr. Morrow’s office with a lighter heart. 
Good old Susan, she thought. What a joy it was 
to see her! 

Mr. Morrow was waiting for her, prompt to the 
minute. He closed the door to his private office 
and drew up a chair for her. He studied her face 
with his scrutinizing eyes, then said abruptly: 

“ How would you like to join our staff, Miss 
Ravenel? ” 

For a moment the room seemed to swim around 
Caroline. She opened her tawny eyes in sur¬ 
prise. Was Mr. Morrow joking? Could it be 
possible that he wanted her, a young, green gradu¬ 
ate, to take a place on one of the leading 
magazines of the day ? 

“ In what capacity, Mr. Morrow? ” she man¬ 
aged to stammer. 

“ Editorial—-in a way. Reading manuscripts. 
If you could see the mass that arrives daily. 


182 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Salary isn’t much, but the work isn’t hard. You 
will simply open the stuff and see whether it’s 
worth passing on to the readers; see that it’s 
legible, in good English and — promising. See? ” 

Still a bit dazed she answered, “ I see. You 
think I am capable? ” 

“ Shouldn’t ask you otherwise.” His words 
were as short and crisp as Susan’s. “ And now 
about the salary.” 

“ The salary really doesn’t matter so much — 
so I can live on it. I want experience.” 

“ Yes. Well, to begin with, the salary will be 
thirty dollars a week.” 

Caroline’s heart took a violent leap. 

“ That would be quite satisfactory.” 

Mr. Morrow rose. It was an invitation for her 
to go. 

“ Shall we say Monday then? ” he asked. 

“ I shall be here. At what time? ” 

“ Nine, sharp.” 

She took the roll of manuscript from her pocket 
and handed it to him. He tossed it upon his desk 
and bowed her out. 

Although the skies were still dark and the rain 
settling into a steady drizzle, her heart sang as 
she made for the subway. A block from home she 


CAROLINE MEETS A FRIEND 183 

stopped at a dingy stand and ordered a sack of 
coal. 

She was whistling when she opened the attic 
door. Caroline never sang. She couldn’t, but her 
whistle was as clear and true as a boy’s. The 
jaunty air reached May re, huddled under a com¬ 
forter on the bed. 

“ Honey, are you so cold? ” Caroline asked 
anxiously. “ Well, cheer up. I have just 
ordered coal. It will be here in a few minutes. 
The man promised it faithfully. I’m going to fill 
that old fraud over there until it roars. Think 
maybe I’ll get a new stove. One with a grate that 
we can poke. I adore poking coals — Why, 
Mayre, you’re not crying! What’s the matter? ” 

She was down on her knees beside the sobbing 
child (Mayre always seemed that to her), her arms 
around her. 

“ I reckon I’m not a good sport, Caroline,” 
Mayre said, trying to choke back sobs, 11 but I am 
awfully sick of it — awfully! Sick of sitting 
around bundled to my ears in sweaters and shawls 
and having to eat horrid things. I don’t like — 
rice and prunes and baked beans. Sometimes I 
get to thinking about Father and Mother and the 
little cottage and Mrs. Ludlow — and I wonder, 


184 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Caroline, if we aren’t making a mistake staying 
on here — if the game’s worth the candle. There’s 
that screen. I’ve worked for nearly ten days on 
it — for twenty-five paltry dollars.” 

44 Plus experience, Mayre. Don’t forget that. 
It’s a valuable asset.” 

“I suppose it is — but I want money. I know 
how to paint — well enough for that fat old 
woman-’ ’ 

“ Sch — dear,” Caroline comforted, her own 
face deep in the pillow. 4 4 Now you just lie still. 
You’re tired. I’m going to run downstairs and 
beg some hot water and fill a bottle for you to 
snuggle up to; then after you are warm and 
comfy, I ’ll tell you some wonderful news. 
Scrumptious! ” 

Mayre raised herself on an elbow. “ Tell me 
now,” she begged. 

“ I’ve got a job, Mayre. A job at thirty dollars 
a week! ” 

44 Where? ” 

“With Mr. Morrow—reading manuscripts. 
You won’t be cold any longer. We’re going to 
be terribly affluent.” She stopped suddenly. 
“ Tell you what we ’ll do. We ’ll celebrate. This 
very night. Put on our best togs and dine at that 




” I’ll tell you some wonderful news. Scrumptious! ” 

Page 184. 






CAROLINE MEETS A FRIEND 185 

heavenly Italian restaurant in Twenty-seventh 
Street. Remember the night Blair took us there? 
Leigh said it was awfully cheap; dollar fifteen a 
plate, or something like that; four courses: soup, 
honey, and salad; crispy green things; and 
chicken and spaghetti and hard French bread with 
unsalted butter — and ice cream for a wind-up! ” 

Mayre was sitting up now, smiling. 

“ It sounds too good to be true,” she said, sigh¬ 
ing happily. “ But maybe it will cheer us up a 
bit. I should love it.” 

And presently, with Mayre napping, snug 
against her hot-water bottle, Caroline, swathed 
in shawl and sweater, was tearing oft page after 
page of paper from a cheap white pad, chroni¬ 
cling the news to her father. 

You remember, Major (she said, among other 
things), my telling you about the day I took my 
courage in my hands and went to see Mr. Morrow, 

the literary editor of-and of how he tried me 

out on some articles a friend had brought him for 
suggestions. He must have rather liked what I 
did, for he has given me other work from time to 
time and this afternoon offered me a position on 
his staff — a very simple and perhaps inconse¬ 
quential one, but anyway it gives us a stated 
income, and Mayre and I are feeling as opulent 
$s old Maumy Rachel used to feel when Leigh 



186 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


banked her month’s salary. Remember how she 
always insisted upon buying me a new hair rib¬ 
bon, or a linen handkerchief that you could tell 
was real linen by wetting a spot with your tongue, 
and holding it up to the light? Dear old Maumy, 
Scarcely a day passes but we speak of her. 

And a few hours later, in “ the best togs,” 
which were most becoming, Caroline and Mayre 
found themselves dining in the pleasant, softly 
lighted restaurant, chatting over their roast 
chicken and Italian spaghetti, warm and cosy and 
comfortable, forgetful of the rain which had 
settled into an all-night drizzle. 

But Caroline soon found that the daily adjust¬ 
ment to a business life precluded the possibility 
of writing. It was her first experience at working 
seven hours a day with only a slight intermission 
at lunch time. She was often very tired at night 
and Mayre was forced to become the housekeeper. 

Usually, when Caroline came in, she had a cheer¬ 
ful fire in the little stove (the weather was 
pleasanter now) with the teakettle steaming and 
singing upon it, and Miss Williams comfortably 
curled on a corner of the old sofa or chair, drawn 
close. 

Barren and cheap as it all was, Caroline would 
scurry to the closet to hang away her coat and 


CAROLINE MEETS A FRIEND 187 


hat, and drawing Miss Williams into her lap, 
exclaim, “ There’s no place like home, be it ever 
so humble! ’ ’ 

Sometimes she would tell Mayre of the day’s 
happenings as they ate their frugal meal, and 
Mayre would add her experiences in quest of 
work. Often there were letters. Mrs. Ravenel 
wrote frequently; chatty letters which always sur¬ 
prised her daughters, for she seldom left her own 
doorsteps; but she managed through the daily 
papers, Martha, and Mrs. Ludlow, to keep them 
posted on the village happenings. “ Mrs. Ludlow 
thinks Jimmy is working far too hard,” she wrote, 
“ burying himself at his office. However, he is 
very successful; one sees and hears his name fre¬ 
quently. Your father thinks him an exemplary 
young man” — a sentence that always made 
Caroline smile, knowing how Jim would dislike 
the compliment. He was far too human to be 
exemplary. 

And the Major wrote: 

We are moving along in much the same old way, 
cheered by the news that you are happy and well. 
Sorry that Mayre’s water colors have not found 
the market she expected for them, but she must 
not be too discouraged with defeat. I have often 


188 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


found it a spur and a blessing. Remember the 
precept of the wise Iyeyasu, “ If thou knowest 
what it is to conquer, and knowest not what it is 
to be defeated, woe unto thee! It will fare ill 
with thee.” 

To Caroline he wrote long personal letters. He 
was interested in all her hopes and ambitions. 
He wanted to know if she found time to write. 
To her he commented on books he was reading, 
sometimes asking her opinion. It was evident, 
though he himself would have been surprised to 
have had it suggested, that his hopes centered in 
her. In one of his letters he said: 

You are learning day by day, my dear child, 
the greatest lesson that life has to teach; the 
gospel of work. Nothing can take its place; 
nothing can build and strengthen, endure and 
satisfy like accomplishment. Do not become dis¬ 
couraged. We learn step by step, bit by bit; 
stumbling, but to walk better. 

Sometimes he would add, 

Your dear mother bears up wonderfully in 
your absence, though I fear she is often lonely. 
However, we do not complain as long as you both 
keep well and happy and feel that you are com¬ 
pensated for your own self-denials. 


i 


CAROLINE MEETS A FRIEND 189 


Caroline often wondered if they were com¬ 
pensated, — she and Mayre. Success seemed so 
far off. But her courage was indomitable. It 
flamed above discouragement, a torch to her 
ambition. 


CHAPTER XIII 


DISTURBING NEWS 

A S the days grew into weeks, Caroline found 
that her work was wearing and often exact¬ 
ing. She went to the office at a few minutes be¬ 
fore nine, remaining until five in the afternoon, 
with an hour for lunch. While she was interested 
in her position, and felt that she was gaining ex¬ 
perience, there were complications that often 
made it seem difficult. 

May re was the most baffling problem. May re 
was homesick; desperately homesick, though she 
struggled bravely to hide it. She managed splen¬ 
didly so long as she was busy, but on idle days 
the bleak garret was unendurable, and Caroline 
was almost sure to find traces of tears on her 
flushed face when she returned home. 

It was May now. Winter had made its final 
bow. Over in the Park, flowers had sprung up, 
and nursemaids in their white caps and aprons 
wound their way through fragrant paths, chatting 
as they marshalled their charges. 


DISTURBING NEWS 


191 


Sometimes, lonely and unoccupied, Mayre would 
stroll along the iron fence, longing to get inside 
and sit for awhile on one of the inviting benches. 
But the gate was always securely locked. 

Standing one day wistfully looking through the 
iron gates, she was surprised by a pleasant voice 
at her elbow. She looked up to see a pair of gray- 
blue eyes smiling at her. A girl of about her own 
age was fitting a key to the lock. 

“ Wouldn’t you like to come in with me? ” she 
asked, pushing open the gate and standing aside. 
“ It seems terribly selfish to shut people out, but 
I suppose the little ruffians on the East Side would 
soon play havoc if they were once given a free 
rein.” 

Mayre looked up gratefully. Caroline had often 
warned her about chance acquaintances, but the 
face bending toward her so graciously was too 
refined and attractive to mistrust, so she said 
simply, “ You are very kind. I should love to 
walk a bit. I’ve been cooped up so long.” 

They were inside now and the girl started to 
walk along beside her. Mayre noticed that she 
was lame, so lame that she walked with painful 
effort. 

It did not take long to learn that Claire Osburn 


192 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


was from the far West, an artist like herself, who 
had come to New York to seek fame and fortune. 

“I have a little apartment just over there,’’ she 
said, waving across the street, “ and my ‘ art ’ has 
reduced itself to a mere pretense. I always had 
a knack of printing and rhyming, so when I found 
my water colors didn’t go here, I began making 
Christmas and birthday cards. I’ve really done 
very well. I have my own little clientele — people 
who are rather exclusive and want something dif¬ 
ferent ”— she stopped and flashed a friendly 
smile — “ you know — the ultra kind. I am kept 
busy with dinner cards, calendars and that sort 
of thing. I illustrate popular verses too, things 
like that. It isn’t art really — it’s merely bread 
and butter.” 

“ Which is essential to art,” Mayre supple¬ 
mented. 

“ Well, yes, rather. I’ve known what it is to 
work without it—and the work suffers. But I 
can’t complain. I make ends meet, which is more 
than lots of girls are doing in New York. I would 
love to take you over and show you some of my 
things, if you have time.” 

Mayre had ample time, so they strolled across 
the street, Claire slowly and painfully, and to- 


DISTURBING NEWS 193 

gether they climbed the stairs that led to a wee 
third-story apartment. 

It was a cosy place. A sunny room with a tiny 
kitchen beyond. In the windows lavender and 
pink hyacinths were blooming and near by a table 
held a collection of books and magazines. A tall 
lamp, with an exquisite parchment shade done in 
the same lavender and pink tones, and several 
easy-chairs added an air of comfort. 

“ Won’t you let me make you a cup of tea? ” 
Claire asked, depositing her hat and wrap on a 
wicker chaise-longue. 4 ‘ I have some that’s rather 
good.” 

She was gone but a few minutes, bringing back 
a quaint wooden tray holding two bronze cups 
with a frieze of wise men in flowing robes. 

“ Chinese! ” Mayre exclaimed. 

“ San Francisco,” Claire laughed and filled the 
cups. “ Yes, the tray came from Sing Fat’s. 
Rather a good one. I hope nobody wants it; you 
see, I collect things like this — sell them. Some¬ 
times when I get a rare bit it’s very hard to let 
it go. I have a feeling that this ”— she touched 
the tray with her tapering fingers caressingly — 
“ would much rather live with me because I love 
it, than up on the avenue, where careless servants 


194 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

slam things about. Notice the design in the 
handles. Isn’t it perfect? Think of the hours 
some one put upon it. Strange how inanimate 
things have a way of talking to you. Every time 
I go into the kitchen this silly thing says, ‘ hide 
me! ’ ” 

She threw back her head and laughed softly. 
“ Now tell me about yourself, please. You do 
really worth-while things I am sure.” 

At the end of an hour Mayre and Claire had 
formed a friendship that was to mean much to 
both as the months slipped by. 

And down town, in her own busy niche, Caro¬ 
line was also forming friendships: Elizabeth 
Worth, the capable girl w T ho served Mr. Morrow 
in the capacity of secretary, a Wellesley graduate 
with literary aspirations, who had chosen a pub¬ 
lishing house for experience, though, like Caro¬ 
line, she found little time to exploit her talent. 
And there was Constance Armstrong, who read 
proof and sometimes brought her blue pencil over 
to Caroline’s desk for an hour’s slaughter; and 
Rebecca Wineburg with a homely nose and a big 
brain — the manager’s private secretary — who 
could tell (though of course she didn’t) the 
minutest detail of the enormous business that 


DISTURBING NEWS 195 

went on, and estimate contracts with a finesse 
that gave her employer pause. 

The men too were capable and interesting t 
Mark Trueman, one of the young intellectuals on 
the staff, and Rupert Moore in the “ Advertis¬ 
ing ” and Frank Shipman, the red-headed 
accountant who was often too kind and attentive. 

Sometimes there were parties in the evening: 
dinners uptown followed by dancing. Saturday 
nights Elizabeth Worth brought her handsome 
fiance, a Yale man who had just started to prac¬ 
tice law, and Constance Armstrong her engineer 
brother, and occasionally Rebecca, a man friend 
who talked a good deal about his success in the 
clothing business and who wore flashy ties and 
stickpins. Often Mayre was included and Frank 
Shipman brought his pal, Sherman Price, as an 
escort. 

Those frolics were happy innovations, though 
Caroline hated being paired off with Frank, who 
was inclined to be jocular and familiar. He re¬ 
minded her of Punny Mathews. He had the same 
stock of stale jokes, the same aimless line of 
conversation. 

% 

Perhaps the best fun of all was going to the 
Gymnasium for a swim. Caroline was an expert 


196 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


in the water, but poor little Mayre, while she 
wanted to keep up with the rest, shrank from 
striking out alone. The men, finding that she 
needed encouragement, got in the habit of push¬ 
ing her down in the water just to see the be¬ 
wildered expression on her countenance when she 
came up. Caroline protested (remembering how 
she once hated the process) but they were always 
on hand to see that she was safely rescued, and 
after all, if Mayre wanted to learn, that was the 
best way. 

As May gave place to June, the attic at Miss 
Pell’s became exceedingly close and stuffy. The 
skylight was stationary, and the two small win¬ 
dows wholly inadequate for air. Mayre wanted 
to move. She had learned of a cosy apartment 
with a key to the Square, in the building where 
Claire lived, but the rent was fifty dollars. 

Caroline considered the proposition thought¬ 
fully. It was not easy to find such a location, and 
she almost felt that they should take the offered 
opportunity, but fifty dollars a month! 

“ Claire thinks I am almost sure to get that 
work to do up in Ninety-fifth Street,” Mayre 
argued, “and she says the woman pays well. I 
could stand half the rent — for awhile. And 


DISTURBING NEWS 


197 


other things are sure to turn up. Claire says she 
almost starved the first year she was here — and 
look now. She’s really quite independent. 

“ And it wouldn’t cost much to move, we are 
so close,” Mayre went on persuasively, 4 ‘and there 
are those darling cretonnes Alison sent us which 
we never have been able to use here. I can just 
see them at the windows — they’re to the south, 
Caroline, did you know that? Claire says it’s 
almost impossible to get such an apartment any 
more, and the kitchen’s just been done over — 
cutest little box you ever saw with a gas oven 
where you could make pop-overs — oh, Caroline, 
don’t you think we could possibly squeeze out 
the money? ” 

“We’ll try, dear,” Caroline promised; “it 
would be heated for next winter — and that’s an 
item.” 

“ Of course, and Claire would be near when you 
are away at work. And we wouldn’t have Miss 
Pell spending the evenings with us-” 

“Honey, I wouldn’t speak that way — Miss 
Pell has been very kind; besides, she’s Blair’s 
aunt, and she didn’t want to take us in, you 
remember. ’ ’ 

“ But she does stay so late, Caroline, and I get 



198 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


worn out, shouting into that black thing. It 
makes me nervous.” 

u Did you ever think how it must make her 
feel? ” 

Mayre had, and apologized. As Mayre had 
said, the moving amounted to little, and the tiny 
new place, once in order, held an atmosphere of 
home that made her weep. 

‘ 1 If you only knew how it makes me feel, 
Caroline,” she said, trying to brace up. “ It’s 
all so sweet and cosy and gay with the cretonnes 
and the rug Alison sent. It was really nice of 
her, wasn’t it? ” 

Caroline knew that the things had been dis¬ 
carded by Alison, but she did not mention it. 
They really were good, and naturally, since Alison 
had selected them, in excellent taste. 

The first month in the apartment was the hap¬ 
piest the girls had known in New York. Mayre 
had secured her nursery to redecorate, so she 
was in great spirits. 

The evenings were especially enjoyable. Often 
Claire came in from across the hall with a basket 
of mending and squeezed in between Caroline and 
Mayre on the old Kirtley sofa for a chat; or Caro¬ 
line read aloud, which she loved to do when she 


DISTURBING NEWS 199 

was not too tired, and they would invariably end 
the evening in the kitchen making sandwiches to 
eat with the chocolate which Claire brought from 
her own fireside. 44 I only have to warm it up,” 
she would insist, when they protested. 44 Cocoa 
is never hurt by standing; I made some this 
morning . 1 ’ 

And Claire did many other kind things. She 
made the shade on the tall lamp (Mayre had 
rummaged for it in a second-hand store) that 
stood so bravely behind the couch — 44 to hide its 
poor scars,” Caroline said; cunning square pil¬ 
lows that matched the window draperies; and she 
had decorated a pair of wooden book-ends that 
were so charming in shape and design that Caro¬ 
line was in terror lest some of Mayre ’s patrons 
should some day leave a crisp bill in exchange 
for them. Altogether it was a cheerful and 
happy, even companionable household. 

But one day (mid-July now) Caroline came 
home with lagging steps and a face that held a 
worried expression. Nevertheless she went com¬ 
placently about the business of cooking dinner, 
broiling a steak and frying potatoes, washing the 
crisp lettuce while Mayre made French dressing 
with imitation oil. It was not until the meal was 


200 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


over and the dishes washed and put away that 
she spoke of the news to her sister. Even then 
she began tactfully. 

“ Work at the office is very light these days,” 
she said; “they tell me that there isn’t much do¬ 
ing during July and August. It’s too hot to work 
hard, I suppose.” 

Mayre lifted her eyes from a linen handkerchief 
she was embroidering — Claire had found some 
orders for them — and looked at Caroline 
thoughtfully. 

“ You seem worried,” she remarked, her needle 
poised for a second. 

“ I am, dear, a little.” 

“ Nothing’s happened to you? ” 

“ Yes — I’m laid off for awhile, Mayre. It’s 
only temporary, Mr. Morrow says. He wants me 
back in September.” 

“ Caroline! And I urged you to take this 
place! ” 

“ That was all right. I wanted to change. We 
couldn’t have remained at Miss Pell’s much 
longer.” 

“ It was cheaper.” 

“ In a way. ’ ’ 

“ What are we going to do? ” 


DISTURBING NEWS 


201 


“ I have a little saved, and there’s Father’s 
and Tevis’s Christmas checks still in the bank. 
Not much, but enough to tide us over, I think.” 

Mayre put down her sewing and rising, threw 
an arm about her sister’s shoulder. 

“ Don’t worry,” she said. “ There’s my 
money-” 

“ You must buy clothes-” 

“ Not if we need food and shelter. I don’t care. 
I would rather live on a crust here than — than 
dine every night in that attic. I couldn’t stand 
it any longer, Caroline. The mice for one thing — 
in spite of Miss Williams — and it was stifling at 
night-’ ’ 

“ I know.” 

“ And if worse comes to worst, we can always 
go home.” 

Caroline shook her head. 

“ You wouldn’t go? ” Mayre’s blue eyes were 
round with surprise. 

“No.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ I have no right to ask Major to support me 
when I am well and able-bodied. He gave me an 
education. That’s all he owes me. But you shall 
go. You will be a comfort to Mother.” 





202 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


It was Mayre who now shook her head. 

“ No — I may be a poor sport,’’ she said de¬ 
terminedly, “ but I shan’t desert. Besides I’m 
beginning to like it here. I’d miss the noise and 
bustle, at home. And my work’s coming on. 
Claire’s been such a help.” 

Caroline smiled whimsically. Her eyes had a 
dreamy, far-away look. Mayre went on with her 
sewing. 

That night, long after Mayre had fallen into a 
peaceful sleep, Caroline lay awake, scheming and 
planning. To-morrow she would begin a round 
of the publishing houses, the larger ones. With 
her present experience she was not ashamed to 
ask for work. She had learned a great deal in 
the past few months; her knowledge ought to be 
worth something — to somebody. 

But apparently it wasn’t. She heard the same 
thing everywhere. “ We are not taking on extra 
people just now. Come back in the fall.” It 
began to look very discouraging. 

She came home late one sultry afternoon when 
Mayre’s white face startled her at the door. 

“ Caroline,” she said, in an awed whisper, 
“ come in quickly! Something dreadful has hap¬ 
pened. Blair-” 



DISTURBING NEWS 203 

Blair, who had been standing near the open 
window, came forward hastily. 

“ Can you bear a shock? ” he asked. 

‘ 4 Leigh! ’ ’ she gasped, and sank down into the 
nearest chair. 

“ No, thank God, not Leigh/ ’ Blair said fer¬ 
vently. 44 It’s Alison. Tevis telegraphed me an 
hour ago. She’s been hurt. I’m afraid fatally — 
thrown from her horse.” 

44 Oh, Blair, no, stop! I can’t bear it.” 

44 Tevis wants Leigh to come, but she cannot; 
so I fear it must be you, Caroline. They have 
also telegraphed for your father.” 

Caroline rose, and groping her way toward the 
tiny closet, brought out her small week-end bag. 
Mayre helped her put underwear and toilet 
articles into it. 44 We can send the rest of the 
things after you, if you have to stay,” she said. 

44 How soon can I leave, Blair? ” She was calm 
and collected now, directing Mayre with an even 
voice. 

4 4 In thirty minutes if you can make it. I have 
a taxi below.” 

She was quite ready in ten. 

44 You will keep Mayre with you for the time 
being? ” she asked, as they turned into the hall. 


204 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Yes; Leigh suggested that. She can close the 
apartment. You mustn’t worry about anything 
here. You will need your strength — all of it, 
there.” 

He thought how splendid she was as she edged 
through the crowds and made her way to the train. 
Quiet, calm and sensible, with a hurt expression 
in her amber eyes too deep for tears. 

“ You will look after Mayre,” she said again, 
from the steps of the Pullman. “ She has always 
been so sheltered. I cannot have her staying 
alone at the apartment.” 

“ Please don’t worry,” Blair answered. “ I 
will go back for her now.” She smiled a wan 
little smile and her hand gripped his. The train 
moved, glided through the sheds and on, out 
through the green fields that led toward the 
South. 

Blair had evidently telegraphed the hour of her 
arrival, for Hudson, the chauffeur, was at the sta¬ 
tion to meet her the next morning. He raised his 
cap politely and she noticed that his face was 
anxious. 

“ My sister—she still lives, Hudson? ” 

“ Yes, Miss, but-” He hesitated as if 

dreading to alarm her. 



DISTURBING NEWS 


205 


“ Yes, go on.” 

“ Very bad, ma’am. Very bad. It was an ugly 
rail. She-” 

He evidently thought better of what he was 
going to say, and, putting her into the car, closed 
the door hastily. 

At the house, old Peter was out on the veranda 
steps to welcome her, trying to smile a friendly 
greeting. His hand shook as he took her bags 
and followed her to her room above. 

“ Marse Tevis, he say he be up soon, Miss 
Car’line,” he informed her. “ He down in the 
drawin’-room jes now, talkin’ with the doctors. 
They done been here all night. I jes sarve ’em 
coffee. Yes’m. Tur’ble bad business, Miss 
Car’line, tur’ble bad! ” 

Caroline asked no questions. The tears were 
streaming down old Peter’s face. He shambled 
from the room weakly, his white head shaking 
from side to side with grief. She had ample time 
to freshen up a bit from her journey before Tevis 
knocked at her door. 

She felt afterward that she would scarcely have 
recognized him had she met him in the street. His 
face was drawn and white; there was a strange, 
dazed look in his eyes, totally foreign to his usual 



206 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

kindliness; a look that was at once sorrowful and 
bitter. He took her hand listlessly and sank down 
into a near-by chair. 

“ Pretty tough blow for you all,” he said, 
almost below his breath. 

“ How is she, Tevis? Tell me about it, if you 
can.” 

Like old Peter, he shook his head from side to 
side, then, resting his arms on his knees, he buried 
his face in his hands. Caroline went over and 
knelt beside him, patting him now and then as 
she would a tired child. Her heart ached so for 
him. Presently he got up and went uncertainly 
toward the door. Weakness had overcome him. 

“ Tevis,” Caroline said quietly, 4 4 have you 
eaten anything? Let us have our coffee together 
in the breakfast room as we used to do — then, 
maybe you can talk to me.” 

He looked at her dumbly. She slipped her arm 
through his and led him toward the stairway. 
Peter busied himself about the table, uncovering 
the toast as of old, pushing the sputtering perco- 
later in front of Caroline. She poured a cup of 
coffee and, getting up, took it around to Tevis’s 
place. 


DISTURBING NEWS 207 

“ Please drink it,” she said imploringly. “ You 
must eat, Tevis: you will need your strength.” 

He tried to smile at her but it was a pitiable 
effort. He took the cup, raised it to his lips and 
drank mechanically. Peter urged the toast. He 
refused it. Not a word was exchanged during the 
five minutes that followed. 

Caroline drank her coffee, and hoping to encour¬ 
age Tevis took several bites of toast. 

“ Do you want to see her? ” Tevis asked, com¬ 
ing out of his dreams. 

“ Could I? ” 

44 She won’t know you. She’s under opiates.” 

In the hall, white-robed nurses were passing to 
and fro. Tevis stopped one. “ Miss Bemus,” he 
said softly, “ this is Miss Ravenel, Mrs. Mc- 
Elroy’s sister. Take her — up there — with you, 
please. ’ ’ 

He left them at the door and Caroline followed 
the nurse. 

The room was deathly still, strong with the odor 
of disinfectants. As Caroline crossed the 
threshold, a wave of memories swept her. The 
last time she had entered she had stumbled upon 
a quarrel; Tevis then was laying down the law 
regarding Silver Heels. She wondered- 



208 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


“ Over here, Miss Ravenel, and please remain 
but a moment,’’ Miss Bemus said. “It is very 
warm this morning, and we are trying to keep the 
room as clear as possible.” 

With a sinking heart Caroline followed her. 
She could understand why Tevis had left her at 
the door when she looked upon her sister’s face. 
Not a scratch marred its beauty; even in the sleep 
so nearly death it was wondrously fair. The 
large blue eyes were closed, and long black lashes 
curled over deep dark circles that but accentu¬ 
ated their beauty; the nose seemed carved of 
ivory and the lovely mouth- 

It was that, the pathetic mouth, that cut deep¬ 
est in Caroline’s heart. Always those full lips 
had been red and shapely. Now they were twisted 
with pain and fatigue; they told of anguish, of 
fright, untold suffering. 

For a moment she stood looking down on her 
beautiful sister, and tears trickled down her 
cheeks. Miss Bemus took her hand, led her from 
the room. 

“ There is absolutely no hope? ” Caroline 
asked, pausing at the door. 

“A bare chance — but, under the circumstance, 
it will be better if she goes.” 



DISTURBING NEWS 


209 


44 You mean-” 

i ‘ It is her spine, Miss Ravenel. We are wait¬ 
ing for your father’s arrival in the morning — to 
operate. If she lives until then.” 

Caroline returned to her own room. For an 
hour she paced back and forth. Her thoughts were 
not with Alison, but with her father; she could 
see him racing across the country, feel his 
anguish, his impatience, picture his arrival. She 
must keep lip her strength for that ordeal. She 
would go with him into that still room, and to¬ 
gether they would bend over the broken form 
shrinking under the satin coverlets — so limp — 
so limp. She threw herself upon the bed and 
sobbed as if her heart would break. 

A knock brought her to the door. Tevis’s 
sister stood outside. She, too, seemed crushed 
and broken, although she had never cared for 
Alison. 

44 Has any one told you how it happened? ” she 
asked, when they had drawn their chairs to the 
open window. 

“ No.” 

4 4 Can you bear to hear the details, Caroline ? ’ 9 

44 Go on, please.” 

44 It was Silver Heels. Tevis sold him in the 



210 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


autumn to a man in the city, a horse fancier; but 
brave as he was, he could not manage the beast. 
Twice he had thrown him. The news came back 
to Tevis’s club, and some one remarked that 
Alison was the only person who could conquer the 
brute. She heard — there are always those who 
tattle — and sent for the animal. Tevis was not 
at home.” 

She threw out her hands in a gesture of despair. 

“ It happened out here — in the grounds. A 
woman had not been on the horse for months. He 
reared and fell back — she was under him-” 

She pointed out the window, to the driveway 
below. 

“ There ,’’ she said, “ there it happened. At 
her own doorstep. Tevis will never get over it. 
He blames himself.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ He thinks he should have had the horse shot 
— he was never safe. But it seemed so cruel — 
and the new owner was a man — a man who knew 
horses.” 

Caroline had sat white and still through the 
recital. Now she rose. 

“ Will you walk with me for awhile? ” she 



DISTURBING NEWS 211 

asked plaintively. “ I feel as if these rooms 
would stifle me.” 

Together they went down into the park that 
stretched in a green meadow away from the 
house. 

The dreaded hour came at last. Caroline met 
her father at the station. Tevis had not left the 
house since his return to it a few hours after 
the accident. 

Caroline had expected to see the Major worn 
and broken after his long, depressing trip, but 
she was agreeably surprised. He was weary, yet 
keen and alert. 

“ She still lives? ” he asked hopefully. 

“ Yes; but is very low, Major.” 

They were in the limousine when he spoke 
again. His tone was anxious, but wholly pro¬ 
fessional. 

‘ ‘ They have not operated ? ’ ’ 

“ No; they are waiting for you. 

He did not ask for particulars; he settled back 
in the car, his fine brows drawn together in 
thought, his eyes deep in meditation. 

She watched him a few minutes later. He had 
taken but a moment to refresh himself, to scrub 


212 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


his long thin fingers and immaculate nails as she 
had seen him do so often before an operation. 
Then a nurse brought him a surgeon’s robe, and 
with the attending physician, he entered Alison’s 
room. 

Tense as the situation was, she gave him an 
admiring glance as he passed through the door 
that led to the chamber beyond. There was 
always something superhuman about him in that 
robe. He seemed more than a man; all but divine. 
He was so silent that she felt he must be praying. 

She went with him to the bedside, saw him turn 
back the covers, saw him straighten for a moment, 
then bend over the crumpled form before him. 
How could she for a moment have doubted him. 
Delicately, knowingly, those slender wise fingers 
began their search. 

How marvelous he was. Not a trace of feeling, 
scarcely a glance at the ivory face on the pillow. 
He was not a father now. He was a surgeon! 

A nurse led her from the room. Later there 
were soft footsteps through the halls. Caroline 
knew what was happening without being told. 
They were taking in a table — in Alison’s room — 
a long table. 

The interminable minutes dragged themselves 


DISTURBING NEWS 213 

by. She wondered if Tevis were in there. Surely 
they would not permit him; it would be too cruel. 
Restless, anguished with suspense, she went into 
his den. At first she thought it empty; then she 
discovered him. He had thrown himself across 
a couch, his head in the pillows. 

She went over to him, gently, and laid a hand on 
his shoulder. He jumped up wildly. 

“ I wanted to stay,” he said, “ but your father 
thought best-” He did not finish the sen¬ 

tence, but she understood. 

“ You could do no good, Tevis. She would not 
know.” 

She left him alone. Hours later, some one 
rapped on her own door. It was the physician 
who had so long attended Tevis’s people. 

She brought him into the room and stood 
breathless, awaiting his news. 

“ I am sorry to hurt you,” he said kindly, “ but 
your sister is gone.” He paused for a second. 
“ Your father was — magnificent, but it was too 
late.” 

She scarcely knew how she got through the 
night. Her father had gone to his own room. She 
tried his door once. It was locked. 

It was well on in the next day when she saw 



214 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


him, and his eyes made her cry out. He had aged 
so during that long vigil. He seemed to have 
wasted away, and the old cough had come back. 
It racked him when he tried to speak to her. 

“ Has a wire been sent to Mother? ” she asked. 

He bowed his head. “ Yes — last night. It 
was the hardest task — save one — that I have 
ever performed.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 

T HE days that followed Alison’s death were 
each a separate agony to Caroline. Although 
Tevis’s mother and sister lived so near, he clung 
to her for strength and comfort. She went about 
the house quietly, getting things in order. She 
understood his moods, never bothering him with 
useless questions. With the help of old Peter and 
Abbie, she sorted and packed Alison’s clothes and 
personal belongings. Tevis insisted that they 
should be divided among Alison’s sisters, equally, 
if such a thing were possible. 

Cousin Eliza left her own home and took the 
room next to Caroline’s, lending what assistance 
she could, but Cousin Eliza was getting old and 
feeble, and the shock of her young niece’s death 
had left her in a more or less dazed condition. 

But one ray of light pierced the gloom of those 
sad days. It was shortly after Alison went that 
Mayre’s special delivery letter came. It was 
brief but cheering. 


216 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Leigh’s precious baby, a little girl, was bom 
this morning. It is a typical Ravenel, and she 
has named it for you — Caroline.” 

In spite of the load she was carrying, Caroline 
found herself going about with a lightened heart 
when she thought of Leigh cuddling that baby in 
her arms. And to think she had named it for her. 
She wrote back, “ You are taking a great chance, 
Leigh dear, to put such a hoodoo upon her, know¬ 
ing my reputation for naughtiness. Let us hope 
that she will be a counterpart in ‘Ravenel’ only.” 

Doctor Ravenel had gone home almost immedi¬ 
ately. His practice demanded a quick return, and 
the effects of a low altitude were always hard 
upon him. But Caroline had found several oppor¬ 
tunities to walk and talk with him after the first 
great shock of Alison’s going was over. His bits 
of home news were reassuring. They were get¬ 
ting along nicely at the Abbey, a little lonely at 

times- He had stopped there, thinking no 

doubt of the effect Alison’s death would have 
upon her mother. 

Caroline asked for Mrs. Ludlow, and of his own 
accord, the Major spoke of Jimmy. 

“ He has a brilliant future,” he said with 



A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 217 

affection. “ But he works too hard.” That was 
all, but Caroline hung on the words. 

And later a note came from Jimmy, merely a 
line, but it said more than most thickly packed 
letters: 

“ My sorrow for you and yours is too deep for 
words. You have my sympathy — and my love, 
always.” 

That note went about with Caroline as she per¬ 
formed the last sad rites in Alison’s home. When 
sorrow overcame her, as it so often did, she took it 
out and read it, going on with her duties sustained 
and encouraged. 

She had an unanticipated visit one morning 
shortly before she left for New York. Fleming 
DeCoursey called. He was exceedingly sym¬ 
pathetic, too much so, she thought, for a mere 
acquaintance. He talked of Alison for some time 
— her beauty, her graciousness, her splendid gift 
for entertaining. Caroline listened patiently. 

“ Writing any plays now? ” he asked rather 
solicitously. 

“ No — I have had little time for that sort of 
thing in New York. I have been too busy earning 
my living. ’ ’ 

“ I shall be in New York this autumn,” he said. 


218 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ If I can be of assistance to yon, call upon me. 
I happen to know some of the producers there — 
theatrical managers. ’’ 

Caroline thanked him and thought little about 
his offer. 

But the mere suggestion of writing stirred her 
dormant brain. That night as she lay awake (she 
had formed the unpleasant habit since coming 
South) old plots sailed before her sleepless eyes. 
But she would have none of them. Her play — 
the big one she was to produce — must be entirely 
original. Something dramatic; something that 
would pull at the heart strings; something that 
would show struggle and defeat; ultimate 
triumph. 

She scarcely knew when the real clew came to 
her. It was several nights after DeCoursey’s 
call, but it came, clear and vibrant in her puzzled 
brain, pushing away the cobwebs, stamping out 
grief, filling her whole being with inspiration and 
promise. 

She got up — it was in the small hours of morn¬ 
ing, and hastily donning a bath robe, wrote 
feverishly. The sun was streaming in the east 
window when she finished, her plot blocked, her 
stage set. 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 219 

Limp and exhausted, she crept back to bed and 
slept until well into the afternoon. 

She wondered when she went over the work 
later, why her plot had not come to her before. 
She went back step by step, remembering the 
most trivial incident contributing to it, trying to 
segregate unimportant events from potential 
ones. She wondered why she, and not Mayre, had 
gone to the candy-box house in Fifty-seventh 
Street that blustery March morning nearly six 
months before; wondered if the pathetic child that 
had made such a lasting impression upon her mind 
had been led into her presence by the hand of 
fate — for he was her hero — her play: that little 
boy with his handsome head bent over an imagi¬ 
nary sand pile. She saw him as an infant, lying 
in his bassinet smothered with luxurious cover¬ 
ings in his expensive crowded nursery; saw his 
struggle for air and sunshine, for self-mastery, 
self-expression, and always, just behind him, 
ready to pull him back, to strangle hope, joy and 
imagination, his mother’s hand, reaching, thwart¬ 
ing— 

That hand became a clutch, a vice that held him. 
It pushed him in a treadmill — a groove. A 
groove! Her busy mind grasped at the word, 



220 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


played with it, resolved it into a title: 
“ Grooved.” 

She could see it on headlines in newspapers; 
blazed in shimmering electric lights on Broad¬ 
way. 

“ Grooved. ” A gripping play, by a new play¬ 
wright, Caroline Ravenel. 

In saner minutes she laughed at her egotism, 
her presumption; how absurd she was! And yet 
she plodded on. 

September found her back in the apartment 
opposite the Square. The weather was perfect ; 
soft golden weather with fresh breezes floating 
in from the river. She plunged into the business 
of polishing her play, working early and late. 

But the need of money made her put it aside. 
She went down to the publishing house one morn¬ 
ing and asked for Mr. Morrow. He seemed glad 
to see her, offered her her old place at an increase 
of salary. Then the grind began again; there 
was little time for creative work. 

She took a Saturday afternoon off now and 
then and went to a matinee, alone, sitting in the 
second balcony where the seats were cheap, drink¬ 
ing in the performance with hungry eyes; watch- 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 221 


ing the technique, the scene shifting, the stage 
settings, absolutely lost to her surroundings. 

Mayre and Claire had become fast friends. 
They spent their spare moments together, often 
at the Metropolitan, standing for hours before 
pictures, or strolling through the Park in the 
autumn sunshine. Mayre was happier now, 
rounder and more contented. She had matured 
slowly, but all at once she seemed to blossom; her 
eyes beneath a blue velvet turban were as soft and 
sweet as violets. She was always becomingly 
gowned and she had an air of distinction. 

“ Any one would know that Mayre was an 
artist, just to look at her,” Claire often remarked. 
“ She looks the part — and is so pretty.” 

Pretty, perhaps, just described her. She had 
none of Caroline’s beauty. She was little and 
round and lovable, — like Leigh’s baby girl, 
Caroline sometimes thought when she looked at 
her. 

Caroline came home from work late one after¬ 
noon to find her unusually animated. She had 
dressed in a little white organdy with sprigs of 
heliotrope, belted at the waist with a velvet sash. 
It deepened her eyes to an evening blue, soft as 
twilight. 


222 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

“You never in the world could guess who called 
this afternoon,” she cried, when she spied Caro¬ 
line. “I'll give you three guesses.” 

Caroline’s heart leaped to her throat. Her 
thoughts raced to Jim. 

“ Not Eunice Middleton? ” Eunice was an un¬ 
wise rich girl whom Caroline had once befriended 
and who was always doing unexpected things. 

“ No.” 

“ Nor Margaret McIntosh — of course not! ” 

“No — but you are getting warmer. It’s a 
native son-” 

“ Biddy Webster! ” 

“Yes; and oh, Caroline, he’s so good-look¬ 
ing! ” A crimson blush suffused Mayre’s face, 
and her dimples came and went. 

“ I am sorry to miss him.” 

“ Don’t worry; he’s coming back — he’s invited 
us to dinner — at the Plaza! Imagine. That’s 
why I am all dressed up. He’d wild to see you. 
He’s bringing a friend with him. A Californian, 
in business here.” 

“A Californian — settled in New York! 
Mayre, your ears deceived you.” 

* 4 That is what Biddy said — one of his old pals 
at Berkeley. Stephen — somebody.” 



A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 223 


“ Not Stephen Raybourn? ” 

“ Yes, that was the name. Do you know 
him? ” 

“ Very well. It will be pleasant to see him 
again.” 

Although Caroline was very tired, she took a 
good deal of pains with her toilet that night. 
Her hair, brushed until it shone like satin, seemed 
unusually beautiful as she knotted it low on her 
neck, and a string of oriental beads that went 
about her throat twice and fell below her waist 
lent color to the black velvet gown she had so long 
worn for best. There were innumerable things of 
Alison’s she might have used, beautiful gowns 
which it seemed almost a shame to lay away, but 
she could not bring herself to touch them. 

She took a long, lingering look in her mirror 
when she had finished. Would Biddy think her 
changed? Susan Stirling had started when she 
met her. She had exclaimed that she was so thin, 
adding a compliment to hide her confusion. And 
since that time — she had suffered so. Grief had 
an ugly habit of bestowing lines. 

She took a hand mirror and held it close. Yes, 
there were crow’s feet coming, but so indistinct 
that they were scarcely visible. Perhaps Biddy 


224 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


would not look too close. Men were apt to accept 
the tout ensemble. 

But her eyes were large and brilliant and her 
smile cordial when she met him in the living room. 
The light from the rose shade had a compli¬ 
mentary effect and Biddy’s “ Whew! This is 
great, Caroline! ” as he took her hand, encouraged 
her. 

“ It’s great to see you too, Biddy. You’re like 
a streak of sunshine after your California fog! ” 

It was very pleasant after the strain of the past 
few months to put cares and work aside and dine 
quietly with old friends. Biddy, like all West¬ 
erners, had spared no pains to make the occasion 
an event. The table, set cosily for four in a far 
corner, was bright with flowers, and there were 
boutonnieres for her and Mayre, cunning little 
rosebuds with tiny quivering ferns that made her 
think of other days; dinners at the St. Francis, 
when Biddy had donned his evening clothes, and 
she her prettiest dancing frock. How happy she 
had been! For a moment she was far away, living 
again those care-free days. 

She raised her eyes to see Biddy’s fixed upon 
her. They held a strange, wondering expression. 

The four fell into easy conversation. The 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 225 

music, just far enough away to be unobtrusive, 
fell pleasantly upon their ears. Once Biddy 
looked up. “ Remember that, Caroline? You 
know we danced to it at the 4 Frantic,’ the night 
Sid Anderson took your roommate.” He turned 
his head to listen, beating the time softly with his 
spoon. 

He too remembered those nights. She almost 
wished he had not; it was all so futile, his caring 
for her. She knew now. Something told her that 
it could never be Biddy, and yet she liked him — 
so much. 

Dinner over, Biddy suggested a light opera, and 
drew forth the tickets. Evidently he had not 
heard of their loss, and she dreaded to break in 
upon his happiness by telling him of Alison’s 
death. There was no place for grief at a feast. 
It would be much easier to go than to explain. 
She had her own ideas about mourning, anyway; 
there was a duty to the living. She had spent no 
time in useless sorrow, made no change in her at¬ 
tire. She had never approved of parading grief. 
Death was a natural consequence of life. There 
was something about wearing black that revolted 
her. 

In the theater she found herself next to Steve 


226 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Raybourn. She fancied that Biddy was a little 
disappointed, but he chatted with Mayre. It was 
not until they reached her apartment that Biddy 
spoke to her alone. Mayre had gone on in, dis¬ 
creetly leaving them alone in the hall. 

“ When may I see you, Caroline! ” 

‘ i Any evening, Biddy. Mayre and I are always 
here. Come up.” 

He seemed disappointed. 4 4 Will you go with 
me to the Follies to-morrow night! ” 

She hesitated but a second. “ You haven’t 
heard, Biddy, but — we have had a loss; my sister 
Alison died very recently. I-” 

He was quick to apologize. “ Pardon me, I 
didn’t know-’ ’ 

“ Of course you didn’t. It was very sudden. 
An accident.” She changed the subject quickly. 
“ Suppose you and Steve have dinner with us 
some night,” she suggested. “ I’ll cook it.” 

He looked a bit incredulous. One scarcely con¬ 
nected Caroline Ravenel with culinary art. 

“ It would be very pleasant.” 

“ Pop-overs are my specialty. Do you like 
them! ” 

Biddy looked puzzled. 

“ Beefsteak, pop-overs, and French fried po- 




A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 227 

tatoes! And Mayre makes wonderful salad — 
with imitation oil.” She was as delightfully 
honest as of old. 

“ It sounds mighty fine. When could we ar¬ 
range this party? ” 

“ Any time. Let’s see. This is Wednesday. 
How about Saturday? I’m free in the afternoon.” 

“ Could I come a little early? ” 

* ‘ Surely. I ’ll put an apron on you and let you 
peel potatoes and grapefruit.” 

He was halfway down the stairs when she called 
to him softly. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Biddy, you don’t know any more Cal men 
here, do you? Because if you do, I’ll ask Susan 
Stirling and a friend of Mayre’s across the hall. 
We could all have such fun together.” 

Biddy did not seem particularly thrilled, but he 
answered pleasantly, “ You can always find Cal 
people anywhere. I’ll do my best.” 

Saturday dawned bright and clear. Caroline 
arrived home soon after lunch to find that Claire 
and Mayre had already set the table, dressing the 
center with Biddy’s flowers (blue and gold) which 
had arrived earlier in the day. Susan came in 
presently, looking almost stunning in a new after¬ 
noon gown. Caroline could scarcely repress a 


228 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


smile as she glanced at her. Below a dainty silken 
frock Susan’s heavy walking boots, muddy from a 
previous day’s tramp, protruded boldly. There 
was always something wrong with Susan’s attire. 

She caught Caroline’s smile and said. “ I 
suppose I should have changed my shoes, but I 
was in such a rush to get here and help you; be¬ 
sides, I loathe those high-heeled, thin-soled, make- 
believe things people are wearing. I always feel 
as if I were going to pitch forward and scrape my 
nose on the sidewalk. What can I do to help ? ’ ’ 

“ You may go into my closet and find a pair of 
black satin pumps with silver buckles and put 
them on, instant er! ” Caroline said with erstwhile 
authority. “ You can’t wear tan boots with a 
silk gown, Susan. It isn’t done.” 

“ But the heels, Cal, dear.” 

“ They’re only medium.” 

Biddy was a “ piker,” Caroline said, when she 
greeted him at six o’clock. The potatoes were 
peeled, and the grapefruit was in the icebox 
awaiting Mayre’s magic touch in the salad. Be¬ 
sides Steve, Biddy had brought Billy Alexander, 
whom Caroline had never met. They were a man 
short, but Caroline took Claire under her wing 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 229 

and steered the conversation in her direction. Al¬ 
together it was a successful party. 

Biddy remained in New York a month. Some¬ 
times Caroline came home in the late afternoon to 
find that he had dropped in for a chat with Mayre; 
she usually found them side by side on the sofa, 
in animated conversation, Mayre rosy and enter¬ 
taining Biddy amused and affable. 

“ I suppose he thinks I am next best,” Mayre 
would sometimes remark, watching her sister’s 
face closely, “ but it seems a shame not to enter¬ 
tain him, when he’s in New York just to have a 
good time.” 

Once Caroline accepted his invitation to lunch 
during her hurried noon hour. Biddy, who was 
accustomed to his own time on his California fruit 
farm, rather resented her haste. She kept con¬ 
sulting her wrist watch. 

“ But I have only one hour, Biddy,” she re¬ 
minded him, when he complained. 

Again she caught the look that had surprised 
her the night of his arrival. He leaned over the 
table and spoke earnestly. 

“ You don’t mind if I say something 
Caroline-’ ’ 

“ No, certainly not.” 



230 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ If you don’t stop this grind, you’re going to 
end in a regular blue stocking, one of these 
woman’s rights-” 

“ Do I look feministic, Biddy? ” 

“ A little,” he confessed. 

She laughed. “ You should see me at the office 
— in my horn-rimmed glasses.” 

“ I’m glad I can’t.” 

“ Am I so bad as that? ” 

“ Men don’t like strong-minded women, Caro- 
hne.” 

“ How do they like them, Biddy? ” 

“ Dependent, Caroline. It was meant to be 
that way.” 

“ Was it really? ” She laughed her low musi¬ 
cal laugh. 

“ But if she had to be — to use her mind? Or 
would you advise letting it atrophy? ” 

Biddy’s face flushed. 

“ You’ve changed a lot since the old days,” he 
said abruptly, and picked up the waiter’s check. 
They parted in front of her office. 

“ See you soon again? ” she asked, holding out 
a friendly hand. 

“ If you have the time,” he answered, looking 
long into her golden eyes. 



A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 231 


Before she turned, she said whimsically, “ I 
wish you had Emma here.” Emma was Biddy’s 
automobile. “ Oh, Biddy, what splendid times 
we had with her. Do you remember the night 
after the Alpha Delt Formal, when she needed a 
drink? You couldn’t find any water, so you took 
the punch that was left, heaps of it, and gave it to 
her. How she did caper and skid going 
home-’ ’ 

“ You still think of those days, Caroline? ” 

“ Surely. Don’t you? Please excuse me, 
Biddy. There goes my boss. I can’t let him beat 
me to work. See you soon. Thanks for an aw¬ 
fully good lunch.” 

Several days passed. She met him one Satur¬ 
day afternoon as she was leaving the office. It 
was strange that in all that jam she should have 
chanced upon him. She had a suspicion that he 
was watching for her. 

‘ ‘ Are you going home ? ” he asked, almost wist¬ 
fully. It was a heavenly afternoon, warm and 
mellow. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Don’t; come with me.” 

“ Where, Biddy? ” 

“ Anywhere.” 



232 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Yon are not lonesome? ” 

He turned upon her quickly. “ What do you 
suppose I came to New York for? ” He did not 
give her time to answer. “ Will you ride through 
the Park if I call a taxi? ” 

“ The bus is much nicer. We’ll get atop and 
I’ll show you the residences on Fifth Avenue. 
I’ve learned them by heart.” 

“ You’ll go, then? ” 

“ Of course I will.” 

The bus was crowded. They climbed the stairs 
and lurched into a seat, laughing and talking. But 
after awhile conversation palled. Caroline blamed 
herself. She had such a poor stock of small talk, 
and Biddy wanted to be entertained. 

They left the bus and strolled through the Park. 
Conversation still lagged. Awkward pauses 
crept in. For awhile the squirrels interested 
them; Caroline liked to play with them, coaxing 
them close beside her. She was conscious that 
Biddy was watching her from the corner of his 
eye. 

Finally he burst out, “ What’s the matter, 
Caroline? We can’t get back on the old ground. 
You seem so — so much stiffer — and older.” 

She wanted to say, ‘ ‘ And you so much younger, 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 233 

Biddy, ’ ’ but she did not. Instead she smiled into 
his clouded eyes. 

“ I was afraid you would discover that,” she 
admitted, making a little hole in the sand with 
her low flat heel. 

4 ‘ Discover what ? ’’ 

“ That I am older. I am.” 

“ What makes you? ” 

“ Work, and care, and grief — they aren’t the 
very best playfellows.” 

“ That’s just the point,” he blurted out. 
“ WFat the dickens do you do it for — stay on 
here like this? ” 

She raised her amber eyes and looked at him. 
“ Can anybody get anywhere without working? ” 
she asked. 

“ No, but-” 

“ It’s chasing the thing you want that’s fun, 
Biddy, like following a butterfly. It’s the run¬ 
ning— out in the sunshine — thinking you’ve al¬ 
most got it and then stumbling — and picking 
yourself up again. It’s life, don’t you see — 
that chase? It would be deadly without it.” 

“ You’re a funny girl,” he said, staring at her 
as if she had turned a new side to him. “ If it’s 



234 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


chasing butterflies you want, come to California 
— to my ranch. The woods are full of them.” 

She shook her head sadly. Her point had gone 
straight over Biddy’s near-curly head. 

11 How long could you stand this sort of thing? ” 
she asked, nodding back to the city. “ Entertain¬ 
ment. You’re fed up on loafing, now.” 

‘ 1 Men have to work. That’s their business — 
so that you women can chase your butterflies.” 

She got up and put on her hat, which she had 
taken off to get the breeze, and slipped her loose 
working gloves over her slender fingers. 

“ Biddy,” she said, “ let’s be frank. I told you 
two years ago that we couldn’t get very far to¬ 
gether. We don’t see things in the same way. I 
release you from all your promises. You’ve been 
very patient. ’ ’ 

She thought his eyes cleared; he seemed re¬ 
lieved, if anything. 

“ I guess the trouble is, you are a little beyond 
my depth, Caroline. I never could get these 

brainy women-’ ’ He ran his hand across his 

brow as if he were clearing it of something that 
confused him. 

They got on better after that. The road home 
seemed much shorter than it had coming out. 



A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 235 

Biddy was cheerful. He acted as if a load had 
been lifted. Caroline wondered. 

She came home one evening a week later to find 
Mayre drooping. Nothing seemed to be the mat¬ 
ter. She was just tired. She had been helping 
Claire in the morning. In the afternoon she and 
Biddy had taken a long walk. 

“ He goes away next week, you know,” Mayre 
volunteered. 44 He says he has had a wonderful 
time. I suppose Steve’s being here helped a lot.” 
Caroline began busying herself in the kitchen. 
44 I was just thinking,” came Mayre’s low voice 
from the living room, 4 4 that it would be so nice to 
have some sort of a send-off for him. A party or 
something — just a simple one. What would you 
think of getting the crowd together (that meant 
the office force) and going to the Gym, with a little 
supper here afterward.” 

4 4 I think it would be great fun. Get it up. ’ 9 
44 Will you ask the girls? ” 

Caroline promised gladly. 

She saw Biddy once in the interim; he was say¬ 
ing good-by to Mayre and Claire in front of the 
apartment. They had been on some kind of a 
jaunt together. He was rather long in making 
his adieus. Mayre was as pretty as the roses she 


236 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


had carelessly thrust through her coat. Biddy 
was responsible for them, Caroline knew. Like 
all Californians, he was exceedingly fond of 
flowers. 

It was a happy, responsive crowd that stormed 
the gymnasium on Friday night. Caroline had 
asked all her young friends: Constance Armstrong 
and Elizabeth Worth and their escorts; Rebecca 
Wineburg and her young clothier, festive in his 
flaming ties. Claire had come too, although she 
could not swim. Caroline begged to sit with her 
in the gallery above the pool and watch the others, 
but Claire would not allow it. 

Caroline could not help thinking how charming 
Mayre was as she emerged from the dressing 
room in her blue bathing suit, cunning cap and 
slippers. Her eyes were almost black with excite¬ 
ment, and her dimples came and went bewitch- 
ingly. She saw Biddy take her hand and pull her 
to the very edge of the pool; saw Mayre shrink 
back as she always did, dreading the first plunge. 

“ You have to do this,” Frank Shipman said in 
his boisterous way, and gave her the customary 
push, plunging in after her. 

Caroline saw Biddy frown and follow her; then 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 237 


they all plunged and swam across the wide stretch 
of water, laughing and sputtering. 

There was a good half-hour’s frolic. Mayre 
was keeping up with the others bravely, but look¬ 
ing a little tired, Caroline thought, swimming past 
her. They were all making for the far side of the 
pool for a last race back. 

“ Don’t overdo, honey,” she called, and Mayre 
smiled, shaking her head. 

They all started, there was the customary 
44 Hoop-la! ” the swift striking out, each one for 
himself. Biddy was swimming close to Caroline, 
neck to neck, with swift sure strokes, gaining 
upon her just enough to make him jubilant. 

As they neared the goal, she made a sudden 
sprint and shot past him, laughing as she ran up 
the steps that led to the dressing rooms beyond. 

Biddy turned and looked back. The crowd was 
still coming, laughing and shouting. 

‘ ‘ Where’s Mayre ? ” he asked and strained his 
eyes out over the pool. 

Frank Shipman was climbing the stairs; he also 
turned and looked. 

“ She started with us,” he said. 

Caroline gave a startled cry. Biddy and Frank 
jumped back into the water, swimming furiously. 


i 


238 CAROLINE S CAREER 

A hush fell over the crowd. A pool guard 
sprang from the side coping and swam quickly 
toward the center. 

Caroline stood rooted to the spot, scarcely 
breathing; her eyes never left him. Presently he 
went under. When he came up he was holding 
something with one arm, swimming with the other. 

Caroline plunged into the water and swam to¬ 
ward him. Some one tried to turn her around, 
hut she fought like a maddened thing. “ Let me 

go, don’t touch me! It’s Mayre! Mayre-” 

Her voice ended in a broken cry. 

Yet she was almost the first to reach Mayre’s 
side. They had brought her up on the coping 
where she lay face down, an arm under her throat, 
her head turned to one side. Already the guard 
was beginning his careful, methodical manipula¬ 
tions, slowly, skilfully. 

But Mayre, white and silent, made no response. 

Caroline scarcely knew how she lived through 
that night. For what seemed hours Biddy and 
the attendant bent over the silent little form 
spread on the hard cement floor, working valiantly, 
never for a moment losing hope, assuring Caro¬ 
line over and over again that there was a spark of 
life, — that surely and gradually Mayre was 



A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 239 


being resuscitated, would look up at them pres¬ 
ently with her old smile. 

Caroline crouched beside her, as close as the 
physician would permit, praying, praying. 

But Mayre did not wake up and smile, not even 
at the hospital where she lay (breathing now) in a 
little white bed, Biddy on one side, Caroline on 
the other, holding tightly to her hand. Once when 
the nurse left the room and Caroline looked away 
for a moment, she saw him lean over and leave a 
kiss on the dark wavy hair, that spread, wet and 
tangled, on the white pillow. Her eyes caught his 
as she turned. 

“ You must know how I feel about her, Caro¬ 
line,’ ’ he said, trying to straighten out the 
tangles. “ I wasn’t sure until to-night — then I 
knew. ’ ’ 

Caroline went around to the other side of the 
cot and took Biddy’s hand in a strong clasp. 

“ I am so glad,” she said, and sobs gripped 
her. “ I think she will be happy when she 
knows.” 

Towards morning Leigh and Blair came and 
Caroline went away to rest. Biddy stayed on, 
until the morning sunshine streamed into the 
pleasant room, and Mayre did look up and smile 


240 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

— radiantly — when she saw him looking down at 
her. 

It was several days before she was back again 
in the apartment. Leigh and Blair brought her 
home in the little “ Lizzie/ ’ almost smothered 
with Biddy’s flowers, bouquets and blooming 
things that had helped her to get well. 

Biddy’s stay in New York lengthened. One 
day he came to Caroline as she was leaving the 
office, and begged that he might be allowed to 
take Mayre home with him. 

u We will be married without any fuss,” he 
said, “ perhaps at old Trinity. Mayre rather 
favors that. Then go straight to the ranch. 
There, with old Sing to wait upon her, and little 
Chan to make her comfortable, she will soon be 
herself again.” 

Caroline had a vision of that quaint old house 
tucked away between sun-tipped hills, and gave 
her consent gladly. “ We must wire Mother and 
Major,” she said, “ that is all.” 

So it was arranged; quietly, as Biddy had 
hoped, without fuss, and little Mayre went away, 
happy and content. 

She clung to Caroline for a moment at the sta¬ 
tion with tears in her eyes. 


A VISITOR FROM CALIFORNIA 241 


46 It is going to be so hard for you all alone,’’ 
she whispered, 4 4 but you will have Leigh — and 
Claire is so near. I shall write to you very often, 
twice a week anyway, especially after we have 
seen father and mother. Are there any mes¬ 
sages? ” 

44 My dearest love to both.” 

44 And Jimmy? ” 

44 Tell him that I am well — if he asks — and 
busy.” She clipped the last word a little and 
turned back toward the lights of the city. 


CHAPTER XV 


ME. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 

T HE months that followed Mayre’s going were 
simple drudgery, with few bright spots. 
Work at the office increased. Caroline’s general 
knowledge and added experience soon put her into 
a more professional realm. Her hours, while not 
longer, were harder, more solidly packed with 
difficult, painstaking work. More and more Mr. 
Morrow depended upon her skill and judgment. 

“ I hope I am not putting too much upon you, 
Miss Ravenel, ’ ’ he would say kindly, ‘‘ but — that 
story; I want your ideas about it. Good stuff, it 
seems to me. Take it home to-night, if you don’t 
mind.” 

That meant reading and taking notes until the 
small hours of morning as Caroline was always 
thorough and faithful. 

And sometimes it was, “ Don’t like to ask you, 
Miss Ravenel, but if you could give Miss Norton 
a couple of hours this evening. She wants to go 


MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 243 

over those special articles we are running; rather 
a big job for her.” 

Of course she gave the time gladly. It all 
meant experience, and that was what she wanted; 
but it also meant a loss of strength and vitality. 
There were changes in the office too. New people 
were coming in, old going out. Rebecca Wine- 
burg, much to her employer’s disgust, had married 
her prosperous young clothier. 

“ You, with your fine mind,” the manager had 
said, “ marrying, and settling down into a house¬ 
wife ! It’s a shame! ’ 9 

And Rebecca had answered shrewdly, “ I 
might use some of my ability helping Abe in his 
business. I shan’t sit down rocking myself in a 
chair all morning, nor spend the days cooking 
either. I will keep Abe’s books, and pulling to¬ 
gether, we will lay by a little something — maybe 
much.” 

“ It will be much, I have no doubt, Miss Wine- 
burg,” her employer had smilingly answered. 

Elizabeth Worth had married her young law¬ 
yer. They had a cosy apartment to which Caro¬ 
line was occasionally invited to dinner that Eliza¬ 
beth cooked to perfection. 

Sometimes Caroline watched her presiding over 


244 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


immaculate linen and sparkling silver, her face 
rosy and content. She had lost that strained, 
careworn look she had carried about her business. 
She seemed younger, more alert, far more inter¬ 
esting and entertaining. She had time for wider 
reading; for the best matinees; occasional lec¬ 
tures. Once she brought out a story she had 
found time to write, and Caroline went over it 
with her, pointing out the places where she 
thought it might be improved. 

Sometimes after those visits Caroline lay awake 
into the night, thinking, wondering, almost plan¬ 
ning, but morning found her at her desk again, 
up to her eyes in the day’s responsibilities. 

There was one diversion that never failed to 
bring her peace and happiness. Those were the 
hours spent in Leigh’s nursery with her name¬ 
sake. Little Carol was developing rapidly, a 
charming bit of humanity with Caroline’s own 
luminous eyes and nut-brown complexion, a wee 
gypsy thing, cuddly and lovable. 

“ She is a Ravenel, isn’t she! ” Caroline would 
exclaim, tucking her in her arms for a nap, singing 
to her from Maumy’s old store of lullabys. Some¬ 
times Leigh w r ould find them there long after little 
Carol should have been in her crib, the older Caro- 


MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 245 

line still humming lightly, looking out into the twi¬ 
light with starry eyes. 

The apartment seemed unusually desolate after 
those week-ends. They were an established habit 
now, as Leigh insisted upon at least two days out 
of the seven. Caroline had her own little room in 
the third story, a restful place with its quaint 
strips of rag carpet, pink and gray; its high poster 
bed and ruffled white curtains. On Sunday morn¬ 
ings Caroline sometimes had her breakfast there. 
Alice brought it up. The service alone made her 
hungry. Coffee in a blue and white pot, with its 
mate, the spouty pitcher, steaming with hot water 
beside it; golden waffles and honey; thick cream 
for her coffee and baked apple. Alice would make 
a pretense of tidying up the room (while Caroline 
scrambled into a kimono) shaking up the pillows 
on the wide bed, spreading out the morning 
papers, illustrations up. 

And Caroline would lie there long after the 
water had cooled in the quaint pitcher, listening 
to the church bells pealing in the village beyond, 
waiting for Alice to bring up the baby (all warm 
and rosy from her bath) for a morning kiss and 
pat-a-cake before she went to sleep. Those were 


246 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


ideal Sundays. It was always a little hard to 
plunge into the grind afterward. 

And there was still so little time for original 
work. The play — the one that was to make such 
a name for its author — lay at the bottom of a 
drawer, sadly in need of mending. There was 
one scene that refused to move, try as Caroline 
would to make it. The characters balked. It was 
queer about those brain children, she sometimes 
thought. They had such definite ideals about 
their own affairs. She wished she could get some 
expert advice upon it, but she scarcely knew where 
to turn. 

One evening, quite unexpectedly, help came. 
On a wet blustery evening in the late spring, some 
one set the apartment bell to jangling. It rang so 
persistently that although Caroline was very 
tired, she was forced to answer. Fleming De- 
Coursey stood outside, wet from the spring 
drizzle. She brought him in and made him com¬ 
fortable. He was very agreeable, and after a few 
minutes visiting asked about Caroline’s play. 

“ It isn’t quite ready to offer yet,” she said, a 
trifle discouraged. 

“ What’s the matter? ” 


MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 247 

“ It’s the third act. My climax. It has never 
suited me.” 

“ May I see it? I hesitate to say that I may he 
of service-” 

“ Oh, I am quite sure you could be, only I wish 
it to be all my own.” 

“ But a mere suggestion.” 

“ Yes, a suggestion might help.” She got it 
out and brought it to him. 

“ Bead it to me,” he said, leaning back on the 
comfortable sofa preparatory to a pleasant hour. 

“ You really wish to hear it? ” 

11 Every word. ’ ’ 

Caroline set the tall lamp closer, so that its rosy 
light fell comfortably over her shoulder, and be¬ 
gan. Naturally an excellent reader, and with a 
voice as flexible and rich as any he had ever heard, 
it was little wonder that Fleming DeCoursey sat 
through the recital scarcely moving a muscle, en¬ 
tranced and entertained. 

She was a lovely sight as she sat there; the 
lines of her slender body fading into the velvet 
softness of the old wing chair, her head beauti¬ 
fully poised, her intelligent, luminous eyes glowing 
and filling with emotion as she read. Sometimes 



248 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


she stopped and paused for better self-control, to 
say, a little ashamed: 

“ You see how silly I am about it — it always 
affects me — it’s so much a part of me,” and De- 
Coursey let her pause merely long enough to add, 
half under his breath, ‘ ‘ Go on, please; it is most 
interesting.” 

When she had quite finished he leaned over and 
took the yellow sheets from her hand (it had never 
been copied) and turning several pages swiftly, 
became engrossed in what he read. 

“ It has large possibilities,” he said presently. 
“ I think if you would permit me to live with it 
for a few days, I could suggest what you want.” 

Caroline looked at the yellow sheets with ma¬ 
ternal eyes. DeCoursey seemed rather eager. 

“ I assure you it will have the best of care.” 

“ It would not be wise to show it to any one — 
yet. ’ ’ 

“ Certainly not, Miss Ravenel. I understand 
the dangers of plagiarism as well as you.” 

She took the manuscript and looked at it in¬ 
tently for a moment, then, with a little gesture 
wholly appealing, put it into his hands much as 
she would have laid an infant there. 

“ I should like it back soon — that is, as soon as 


MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 249 

yon find it convenient. And I very much appre¬ 
ciate your interest. Please don’t hesitate to make 
suggestions. I can’t promise to take them, but I 
will consider them.” 

He smiled and made his adieus. Two days 
later the manuscript was returned. There were 
not many suggestions, only some along the margin 
where Caroline herself had been in doubt. 

Mr. DeCoursey explained. “ It really is very 
good as it is. I should advise you to put it aside 
for a few months and get a new light upon it. 
That always helps. The thing you want will no 
doubt come to you. As I said before, potentially 
it is a play — a very good one. A bit ” — he 
shrugged his narrow, drooping shoulders — 
“ amateurish as yet, but that is merely the fault of 
youth and inexperience, not talent. You show 
splendid ability. ’ ’ 

Caroline pondered over his remarks long after 
he had gone. She almost wished she had not let 
him have the play. His comments seemed stilted 
and trivial. Young and inexperienced as she was, 
she knew good work when she saw it. That was a 
part of her business at the publishing house. 

Weeks passed. Now and then Caroline took 
out the play and worked over it, but either be- 


250 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


cause she was so tired at night, or not yet strong 
enough in dramatic force, it still refused to move. 
As Mr. DeCoursey had suggested, she put it away 
to ripen, and busied herself about other things. 

Spring passed. June came in romping, like a 
merry restless child bestowing gifts. Out Leigh’s 
way trees misted in vistas of green; robins sang 
as they built their nests in apple and cherry trees, 
and Baby Carol laughed and clapped her hands 
when they ventured near her cart in quest of 
crumbs. 

Caroline still spent her Saturdays and Sundays 
with Leigh. It was an established custom. She 
had grown to love the little room under the eaves 
too warm for comfort now, so she had taken a cot 
at night on the little sleeping porch beyond. She 
was comfortable there, but the clear stars twink¬ 
ling in the heavens, the pale white moon, the sway¬ 
ing trees below, sometimes kept her awake until 
late. There was so much to think about. 

Mayre’s letters were a little disturbing. She 
had written: 

I really think, Caroline dear, that you ought to 
come home next winter if possible. Mother is 
failing. I am so sorry to tell you, but you would 
hardly forgive me if I kept it from you. She 


MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 251 

will never get over Alison's death. I have some¬ 
times thought she loved her best of all. She was 
so proud of her marriage into the McElroy family 
— and of her position in the South. Mother, you 
know, is, and ever will be, a true aristocrat. She 
and Father both seemed to enjoy the two weeks' 
stay with us at Christmas, hut were more or less 
restless and anxious to get back home. Doesn't it 
seem dreadful to think that out of five children — 
daughters too — poor Mother has not one to com¬ 
fort her? I do so wish that Father would con¬ 
sider coming over here. Biddy, who simply 
adores him, has offered him an acre at the far end 
of the ranch to build a comfortable cottage, but 
Father will not give up his practice yet. Per¬ 
haps in time- 

And there was other news: 

I was in San Francisco the other day and in 
Powell Street happened to glance up to one of the 
skyscrapers, and what do you think I saw blazoned 
on a window there: “Margaret McIntosh, At¬ 
torney at Law! " It gave me such a thrill that I 
ran up for a moment. She was busy, but took 
time to tell me all about it — her success, and 
sent you oceans of love. She told me of Eunice 
Middleton, too. Says she is graduating this year 
with honors. Imagine! Says she has grown into 
a really fine girl with high ideals. But of course 
you know all about her since she is your own 
protege and no doubt writes often. 

I also had another delightful experience in the 



252 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


city. Ran into Jim Ludlow at Taits where Biddy 
and I were having our weekly dinner, and movie 
afterward. That’s our dissipation; we get heaps 
of fun out of it. Jim was with a party. Seemed 
to be having a good time. Father told me at 
Christmas that Jim won a case in the Supreme 
Court not long ago and that it was a great feather 
in his cap. He was as handsome as ever (I al¬ 
ways thought he was, though you rather dislike 
the word) and a very pretty young woman at his 
left was making a desperate effort to entertain 
him. I thought he seemed preoccupied. Father 
says he is a slave to business. 

There were other letters. Betty Warren wrote: 

For heaven sake, Cal, how long does it take to 
get a career going? You have been away almost 
two years and although I read the Times from 
cover to cover I can’t find a word about your 
plays. What’s the matter? I really think that 
you ought to come home if only to see Junior. 
Every one says he is the finest specimen (by the 
way, how is dear old Susan? Was awfully inter¬ 
ested in your news of her) of a two-year-old they 
ever saw. Stan is simply wild about him. My 
dear, this is the life! If only Stan weren’t a baby 
specialist and there weren’t so many foolish 
women in the world! 

1 do try to see your mother occasionally. You 
won’t mind my saying so, dear, but she does seem 
lonely and just a little frail. Couldn’t you pos¬ 
sibly write at home? Please don’t think that I 


MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 253 

am butting in, but you know I have always been 
quite crazy about your family — ever since the 
summer you took me in. I always remember you 
in my prayers because you introduced me to Stan. 
Really, Cal dear- 

Caroline turned the letter over, a little surfeited 
with Stanley’s virtues, though she fully appreci¬ 
ated them. 

Betty went on: 

Suppose you hear from Jimmy Ludlow once in 
awhile. Such a highbrow. Expect to see him 
senator or something from Colorado one of these 
days. Doesn’t seem to take out anybody here — 
girls, I mean, though he does run over to San 
Francisco quite often. Maybe that’s business, 
though you never can tell. Stan saw him out at 
the beach one night (the last time he was over 
there) with a party. I tried to find out about the 
woman end of it, but men never tell you anything; 
especially after they’ve been married five years, 
and yet Stan- 

Caroline smiled as she put the letter back in its 
square, scented envelope, but her eyes were 
dimmed and sad. Should she go home? Was it 
her duty to go? She asked Leigh, who was al¬ 
ways wise and honest. 

“ I think that if you were really needed, Caro- 




254 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


line, Father would send for you. Mother is too 
unselfish to demand your time simply for com¬ 
pany. I doubt very much if you could command 
the work or the salary in the West that you are 
getting here.” 

That was the point exactly. Caroline was mak¬ 
ing a good and an honest living. Her salary had 
been raised until she now lived in comfort. 

Claire was still across the hall and the acquaint¬ 
ance had ripened into real friendship. It was 
Claire who took Mayre’s place and furbished up 
the apartment. 

6 ‘ I really think, Caroline, * ’ she said, ‘‘ that you 
ought to use some of those lovely things Mr. Mc- 
Elroy sent to you.” So Caroline unpacked the 
box and selected a few rugs, some silver and 
china; not much, but enough to give the room an 
air of comfort and refinement. 

Claire had a beautiful time arranging them. 
When she had finished, the living room had a real 
atmosphere; it was homelike too, and Caroline was 
very grateful for the winged-back chair (Tevis 
had sent that also) and a few handsome pieces of 
linen that made the gate-legged table so attractive 
and appetizing when Claire set it for chance 
guests. 


MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 255 


Sometimes, as Caroline dropped down on the 
sofa and looked up at the smiling face of Great- 
aunt Caroline, she fell to wondering about those 
ancestors that had passed on. She wondered 
about their hopes and aspirations, their sorrows 
and failures. She thought of dear old Madame 
Wakefield too, though she seldom heard from her 
any more. She sorrowed for her sometimes, so 
old and forlorn, her nearest and dearest snatched 
from her by a cruel war. She must write to her 
more often, she thought. If only there were time. 

Time! She wondered if others felt the lack of 
it as she did. She was always busy during the 
day, and those week-ends at Leigh’s precluded the 
possibility of writing or working. Leigh saw to 
it that she was quiet, and there was the precious 
little Carol to be romped with and wheeled down 
shady lanes in her cart. But she did have time to 
think during those long summer nights. Nights 
when fresh breezes carried the fragrance of 
Leigh’s honeysuckle and late roses to her cot on 
the upper porch where she lay dreaming; odors 
that brought such poignant memories that some¬ 
times she wished the breeze would change, dearly 
as she loved it. There was a certain odor about 
the mingling of honeysuckle and roses that 


256 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


brought back childhood. She could see Maumy 
Rachel’s fat black hand clutching a handful, her 
wide nostrils pressed against the sweet cool 
leaves. 

“ Ain’t nothin’ lak a rose,” she would say, hold¬ 
ing one out to Caroline for a whiff. “ I suttanly 
think the good Lord he mus’ be’n pow’ful proud 
when he make a rose, Miss Caroline. Dat war a 
great day fer Him,” and she would bury her face 
again, sniffing and smiling. 

There were other memories. Her first high- 
school dance. Jimmy had just returned from col¬ 
lege. He had sent her a florist’s boxful. Oh, 
the joy of that moment! Could she ever forget 
it? And another time — he had pinned a dark 
beauty in her hair, fumbling a little; she had 
called him stupid and, taking it away, thrust it 
through the lapel of his gray tweed coat, and the 
odor had mingled with tobacco and soap, — a 
masculine smell, fragrant and unmistakable. 
And another time, on the mesa- 

Ah, those days! Unbearably sweet — unbear¬ 
ably dear. Would they ever come again? Would 
she succeed enough to warrant a return? She 
could not go back empty-handed. 

Then she would turn her thoughts to her play, 



MR. DECOURSEY OFFERS HELP 257 


trying to think out the troublesome scene. It 
came to her one afternoon, when she was wheeling 
little Carol under the leafy bowers of the avenue, 
— Leigh’s small town boasted but one. She has¬ 
tened home and wrote until well into the night. 


CHAPTEE XVI 

CAKOLINE ’s PLAY 

A UGUST was a trying month, hot and weari¬ 
some. Caroline drooped, but she remained 
at work, except for the customary two weeks given 
her as vacation. It was cooler at Leigh’s, and 
since she could sleep as late as she liked (her 
porch was snug with awnings) and walk and 
dream in the afternoons, she preferred the drowsy 
little town to the seashore. 

Her namesake was also a great attraction. She 
was beginning to toddle now, steadied by the older 
Caroline’s finger, and to lisp “ Pretty ” and 
4 4 Tante Ca’line,” which entranced her doting 
relative. For hours they romped together in the 
early twilight and Caroline would carry her up to 
bed and croon Maumy’s old songs to her until the 
little hand loosened its grip on her finger and the 
brown curls cosily adjusted themselves into the 
soft mattress. Leigh never permitted a pillow. 
Then Caroline would bend over her for a minute, 
perhaps lift a chubby hand for a last kiss, 


CAROLINE’S PLAY 259 

straighten the light blanket, and tiptoe from the 
room. 

No one knew, save Leigh, perhaps, how the child 
had wound itself about her heart. And little 
Carol, eager and responsive, was quite as doting. 
She would watch at the window for “ Tante 
Ca’line ” by the hour, scorning her playthings, 
calling sweetly as she pressed her face against 
the cool pane. 

Yet Caroline worked during those two weeks. 
She had brought her typewriter with her, a larger, 
more efficient one now, and for hours at a stretch 
she banged away on it, perfecting and copying the 
play. It was done at last. She read it one night 
to Blair and Leigh (after much persuasion) and 
had the satisfaction of seeing their emotions 
stirred. 

“ It’s a corker! I predict a three-years’ run, 
Caroline,” Blair said. “ Wouldn’t negotiate a 
loan on your prospects, would you? ” 

“ I am quite sure it will be a success,” Leigh 
added in her quiet way. u We shall all be so 
proud when it is really on the boards.” 

In September, Caroline began the rounds of the 
producers, those august men who sit in judgment 
on the world’s best talent. It was difficult from 


260 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


the first, for she had only the noon hour, which 
was always bad for business, and Saturday after¬ 
noon, when most men left their offices for the sea¬ 
shore or a round of golf. However, she managed 
at last to interest one pompous individual who 
gripped theatrical affairs in his stalwart hand, 
and made an appointment for four o’clock one 
Friday afternoon. Mr. Morrow, inclined to be 
obliging, allowed her the privilege of leaving the 
office an hour early, so that she reached the theater 
almost on time. 

The magnate, seated behind a polished mahog¬ 
any desk, took his cigar from his mouth and 
brought forth a chair for her. With a fluttering 
heart and a dry throat, she took the manuscript 
from her portfolio and laid it on the desk. Mr. 
BergstrofTer held the pages to the light. Pres¬ 
ently he pushed it toward her with a request: 

“ Maybe you had better read some of it your¬ 
self. I like to get the author’s slant on a thing.” 

It was the opportunity she had longed for, yet 
never dreamed of having. She was half through 
the first act, when she noticed the man before her 
squirm in his chair and then bend forward, a 
puzzled light in his black eyes. 


261 


CAROLINE S PLAY 

“ Where did you get on to this thing? ” he 
asked curtly. 

44 The plot, you mean? ” Caroline asked, lifting 
her own clear eyes. 

“ The whole business.” 

“It came to me — slowly — evolved from an 
incident. ’’ 

He gave a dissatisfied grunt and told her to go 
on. It was in the third act that he stopped her. 
He had been listening intently, taking notes now 
and then on a pad that lay on the desk near at 
hand. 

44 Don’t believe you had better finish now,” he 
said to her great disappointment. “ No use 
taking up your time and mine. The thing’s good, 
but you are a little late with it. Idea’s been used 
before. Fact is, we’re opening on its twin next 
week. Come around and see it. ‘ David,’ the 
play’s called. Story of a man. Funny how these 
things run up against each other sometimes. 
Ain’t more than a half dozen plots in the whole 
list.” 

“ But this,” Caroline began. 

He waved a pompous hand. “ I tell you we’ve 
got practically the same thing, beginning next 
week. Sorry. Try again. You seem to have 


262 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


talent. Keep in touch with me. Like to see what 
you do next.” 

She took the manuscript quietly, scarcely be¬ 
lieving him. It was merely a ruse to get her out 
of the office. She knew all the tricks of business. 
She had seen them worked before. Even Mr. 
Morrow, very much the gentleman, had his 
subterfuges. 

The information that Mr. Bergstroffer gave her 
did not alarm her in the least. It only made her 
think about the play more, viewing its possibilities 
from every side. But some two weeks later, pass¬ 
ing down Broadway in the early evening, she 
looked up at a twinkling sign that wrote “ David,” 
and then blinked out again. For some minutes 
she stood watching it. Then another announce¬ 
ment came. “ David. A Powerful Drama of 
Modern Times. The story of a man’s struggle 
for self-mastery.” 

It was Friday and realizing that she would be 
free the next afternoon she went in the theater 
and bought two tickets. Leigh loved a good 
matinee, and Caroline enjoyed taking her. Money 
was much easier now that she had only herself to 
care for. She could afford good seats occasion¬ 
ally. It was not difficult to obtain them. The 


CAROLINE’S PLAY 


263 


play was new, though drawing splendidly, they 
said at the box office when she made inquiry. 

Leigh met her early, so that they might have 
lunch together. They were in their seats at the 
theater in good time, laughing and chatting 
happily. Leigh always had so many cunning 
pranks of little Carol’s to relate, to which the 
elder Caroline listened with delight. The men in 
the orchestra came out from under the stage and 
took their places. The music began; then the 
lights went out, hats came off, and there was a 
gentle rustling all over the house as people sat 
back, making themselves comfortable for the 
pleasure in store. The curtain had been up but a 
few moments when Caroline leaned forward, 
taking in every detail of the gorgeous stage 
setting. Leigh also strained closer. 

It was an ornate, showy room. At the back of 
the stage, where a bay window looked out into a 
storm, filmly, deep-bordered lace curtains swept 
the floor. In the center of the window stood a 
growing palm, and back a little to one side, a deep 
velvet sofa stretched its handsome length before 
an artificial fire. Chairs were strewn about; rich 
and heavy; cabinets held a jumble of ornaments; 
statuary abounded. 


264 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


Through the quiet room a bell jangled. A 
butler opened an outside door and admitted a 
young woman, wet from a storm. He took her 
umbrella and brought her in by the fire. She sat 
down on the sofa in a far corner. For a few mo¬ 
ments there was silence. Then a noise at the door 
startled the girl. She looked up. Her glance fell 
upon a little boy, a furtive, restless child who 
seemed to be watching for some one- 

Caroline had straightened in her seat. Her 
face was very white. Her hands trembled. 

The boy edged into the room, found a news¬ 
paper, took some sand from his pocket, letting it 
trickle through his fingers, chuckling as it struck 
the paper. He darted for the palm, took out a 
stick- 

Caroline’s breath was coming quick and fast. 
Leigh reaching over took one of the trembling 
hands and held it close. The play went on. 

At the end of the act Caroline rose and 
stumbled through a line of people for the aisle. 
Her eyes were wide and flaming. The old spots, 
the coffee grounds, had grown to twice their usual 
size. She was shaking from head to foot. 

Leigh followed as rapidly as she could. Caro¬ 
line was making for an office upstairs. 





A door opened, Leigh followed Caroline in, and saw 
a heavy, stolid man. Page 265. 




















265 


CAROLINE’S PLAY 

“ Pear! ” Leigh called, trying to catch her. 
“ Where are you going? ” Caroline seemed not 
to hear. 

A door opened. Leigh followed Caroline in, 
saw a heavy, stolid man step forward. Heard 
Caroline’s brown fists pounding on the mahogany 
desk; heard her say, her voice pitched high with 
excitement, “ Who gave you that play? Tell me 
his name. Tell me instantly! Where is Flem¬ 
ing DeCoursey?” 

Then, before the man could answer, she had 
fallen in a heap at his feet, dead to Leigh’s 
entreaties. 

Leigh scarcely remembered what happened after 
that. She only knew that the heavy, sordid face 
above her own became suddenly kind. That Blair 
was reached without difficulty, and that a few 
hours later they had Caroline at home, conscious, 
but raving excitedly. 

For two weeks Caroline was very ill; brain fever 
the doctor said, watching her case with unusual 
interest. Leigh was almost distracted. Realiz¬ 
ing how frail her mother had grown since Alison’s 
death, she feared to telegraph her father, yet 
wondered how she dared keep the news from him. 
Doctor Bromley, the physician who had taken care 


266 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


of all Blair’s family, was her support and com¬ 
fort. He felt quite sure that with Caroline’s 
youth and the Ravenel inheritance she would 
weather the illness that had thrown them all into 
such a panic. Leigh blamed herself for that 
illness. 

“ I knew that she was breaking,” she said to 
Blair, over and over again. “ She seemed so 
worried of late, so very tired, but I thought it was 
the summer heat, to which she never could become 
accustomed after her mountain breezes. Some¬ 
times I have fancied that she was trying to make 
up her mind about something-” 

“ Could it be-” Blair stopped. 

“ Jimmy? Sometimes I have thought so, 
Blair. She keeps that little picture of him on her 
desk — half hidden by papers — but there just 
the same. The boyish one — taken when he was 
at Princeton. You remember?” 

Blair nodded. “ Some kid Jim was in those 
days,” he said with cousinly pride. 

‘ 1 I wonder, Blair, if we ought to tell him of her 

illness. If anything should happen-” Tears 

filled her gentle eyes. 

Weeks slipped into months. Caroline passed 
the danger line in safety. She was sitting up 





CAROLINE S PLAY 


267 


now, weak and white, but safe, Leigh thought, as 
she brought her tempting broths and gelatine 
puddings. It was almost Christmas before she 
got about. The nurse had gone and Leigh and 
Alice were taking care of her — pushing her wheel 
chair into the sun parlor, lifting little Carol into 
her lap to amuse her. 

She had never mentioned the play after those 
first ravings. Leigh sometimes wondered if pain 
had swept disappointment from her heart. She 
dared not ask her. The doctor had strictly for¬ 
bidden mention of that heart-breaking day. 

The weeks preceding Christmas were full of 
interest. 

“ We are going to make a special celebration 
this year,” Leigh said, “ in honor of your 
recovery. ’’ 

“ Oh, Leigh, you must not! I have been such 
a care and such an expense. It will take all my 
savings to pay the nurse and doctor.” 

u Don’t you worry about that. Doctor Brom¬ 
ley happened to know Father — and when Blair 
asked for his bill he refused to make one. Pro¬ 
fessional courtesy.” 

“ Leigh, he must not do that! Doctors need 


268 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


their money so! I have it in the bank. I have 
been saving for a rainy day.” 

Caroline was up, walking about the house a 
week before Christmas. Her steps were slow and 
sometimes faltering, but she was gaining, in leaps 
and bounds, she said, when they asked her about 
her strength. 

She was more beautiful than she had ever been. 
The russet tones in her cheeks had turned to 
ivory, yet a faint flush gave them life. Her beau¬ 
tiful thick hair was gone, but in its place tiny 
ringlets massed themselves, soft and brown as a 
thrush’s wing. They clustered about her fore¬ 
head and neck, giving her a boyish look that fasci¬ 
nated Leigh. She could scarcely take her eyes 
from her. 

“ You’ve grown younger, dear,” she would say, 
trying to hide her admiration. 

‘ ‘ That’s good. I certainly was going downhill 
fast enough. How are the crow T ’s feet? ” Caroline 
asked. 

Leigh smiled as she handed her a mirror. 
“ See for yourself,” she said. 

Caroline looked, and a flush trailed her face. 
“I’m disreputably thin,” she said. 

“ You are just in style.” 


CAROLINE S PLAY 


269 


Caroline took a longer look. Yes, they were 
gone, those tracking lines that were beginning to 
show at the corners of her eyes. She was glad. 
A sudden thought leaped to her mind, deepening 
the flush to scarlet. 

As Christmas approached, Blair was mysteri¬ 
ously happy. He hummed an air as he shaved in 
the morning and joked with Caroline every time 
he came into her presence. Leigh had her own 
suspicions, but she said nothing. The day before 
Christmas he took her to one side. 

i ‘ When I come home to-night try to have Caro¬ 
line out of the way. Keep her upstairs in your 
sitting room if you can.” 

“ Why, dear? ” 

“ Just — never mind why, ’ ’ Blair said, leaving 
a kiss on the upturned face. 

She did as he bade her, though Caroline was 
restless and wanted to go below and play with 
Carol in the firelight. 

“ Alice will put more wood on here,” Leigh 
said and rang the bell. 

Caroline was down on the hearthrug building her 
namesake a house with square red blocks when the 
front door slammed. 


270 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Blair is early to-night, isn’t he? ” she asked, 
pausing for a moment. 

11 I believe he is,” Leigh answered as she went 
to meet him. 

'A moment later — it could only have been a 
moment — Caroline had finished the house that 
her small niece mischievously swept into a pile, 

and she had whisked her into her arms and was 

« 

pressing kisses on the back of her fat little neck, 
when the door opened. 

She look up, expecting to see Blair in the door¬ 
way, hear his hearty, “ Well, how’s the invalid 
to-night? ” 

But it was not Blair. Another man stood there. 
A man with anxious, eager eyes. He took a step 
forward, came into the room, closing the door 
softly behind him. 

Caroline scrambled to her feet. For a moment 
her hand caught at her heart, it was racing so 
madly, so joyously; then she moved forward into 
the arms stretched so hungrily toward her. 

The next moment she was hiding her happy 
tears on Jimmy Ludlow’s gray tweed coat. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A HAPPY CHRISTMAS AND A WEDDING 

T HAT was a Christmas never to be forgotten. 

Caroline, despite the fact that she had sat 
up rather late for an invalid the night before, 
came downstairs bright and early. 

Leigh had preceded her. She was busy putting 
the last touches to the Christmas tree, surround¬ 
ing it with packages, lighting the candles. 

Caroline, coming in softly, threw an arm over 
her sister’s shoulder. 

“ Leigh, dear,” she said, holding her tighter, 
“ I wanted to speak to you for a moment — alone. 
Leigh — look! Kiss me, dear, and wish me 
happiness — not that wishes will help. I’m 
bursting with it already! ’ ’ 

She thrust out her thin brown hand, waving it a 
little to watch a diamond on her third finger 
sparkle in the candlelight. 

“ Caroline! Oh, my dear, I am so glad! So 
glad I can’t say anything.” 


272 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

She turned her sister about and looked into her 
shining eyes. 

“ It’s Jimmy-” 

They both laughed. 

“ Who else, honey? ” 

i ‘ Caroline! Blair will be crazy- 9 9 

She ran to the stairway and called to him softly. 
“ Blair, dear, hurry! I can’t wait a minute; 
hurry, hurry — please1 ” 

Caroline had never seen Leigh so excited. 
Leigh seldom ran. She came back in a moment, 
holding Blair by the lapel of his coat. 

4 ‘ Blair, look! 9 9 she said and drew Caroline 

closer. “ Kiss your sister and wish her- 99 

“ You needn’t, Blair. Wishes don’t mean a 
thing to me — maybe I may need them later. 
Just now, if they came true — and I were any 
happier — I might have a relapse. I couldn’t 
stand it.” 

Blair took her hand and gave the ring a scruti¬ 
nizing glance. 

‘ ‘ When is this — this extraordinary event to 
take place? ” he asked, kissing her cheek as he 
was bidden. 

“ As soon as it can be arranged,” Caroline 
answered, the old russet hue creeping warmly into 





A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 273 

her cheeks. “ Will you stand for a wedding — 
here? ” 

“ Caroline/’ Blair said, and his eyes made good 
his words, they were so seriously kind, “ I’ll stake 
you to half my kingdom. That’s as far as I can 
go; Leigh owns everything else.” 

When Jimmy came down from the guest room 
on the floor above (where Leigh had insisted upon 
his staying, as Oak Hills boasted no hotel) there 
were more congratulations. 

They were a splendid couple, Blair thought, as 
he watched them at breakfast; Jimmy, tall and 
protecting, with the air of a business man, a man 
of affairs; just enough older to make life interest¬ 
ing and worth while to the lovely girl who sat 
beside him, glancing up radiantly when he spoke, 
drinking in his every word with pride and 
pleasure. 

Blair was impatient. 

“ Has the day been set yet? ” he asked, almost 
draining the syrup pitcher as he flooded his hot 
cakes. His eyes were on Caroline. She was so 
entrancingly lovely with the new bloom upon her. 

“ It has! ” Jimmy said so quickly that they all 
laughed. “ It will occur one week from to-day at 
noon. Caroline thinks that will give Leigh time 


274 CAROLINE’S CAREER 

to serve a breakfast and get us to the pier at four 
o’clock.” 

“ To the pier! ” 

“ We are sailing, Leigh dear,” Caroline said, 
“ for England. Jimmy had to run over on busi¬ 
ness, and he thought I might go along ’ ’ — she 
looked up at him affectionately — i ‘ and keep him 
out of mischief. I understand that he has been in 
the habit of running over to San Francisco occa¬ 
sionally— for parties-” 

“ He’ll bear watching, all right,” Blair added, 
and Jimmy, reaching over, pulled one of Caro¬ 
line’s tiny curls and then patted it softly. 

“ Who gave you all this information? ” he 
asked. 

“ Oh, a little bird,” Caroline flung; “ robins 
migrate — even from California.” 

An exciting week followed. Caroline had wired 
her father and had received a night letter that 
among other things said, “ January first will be 
the happiest day of my life. My love and sincere 
congratulations to you both.” 

Caroline was very busy. The apartment, tiny 
as it was, had to be dismantled, work finished and 
turned over to Mr. Morrow. There was genuine 
regret at the office when Caroline made known 



A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 


275 


her plans. Even Mr. Morrow, silent and digni¬ 
fied, had rather a lost look when Caroline related 
her intentions. 

“ I don’t know just how we are going to fill your 
place, Miss Ravenel, ” he said, “ but after meet¬ 
ing Mr. Ludlow, I rather think we shall have to.” 

Jimmy was also occupied during that week. 
Visits to Mr. Bergstroffer kept him busy and in¬ 
terested. The august man had quailed a little 
under Jimmy’s sharp questions and scrutinizing 
eyes. There was a look in those gray depths that 
was beginning to be feared in the Colorado courts. 
Mr. Bergstroffer was not slow to recognize it. 
Before the end of the week “ David” had blinked 
itself out on Broadway, the papers announcing 
that the play was in litigation. Caroline did not 
know, but Jimmy’s business in England was with 
Mr. Fleming DeCoursey, who had gone abroad 
to place the rights to his stolen production. Blair 
had not been idle. He had put the case before 
Jimmy by wire and letter before Jimmy reached 
New York. 

There was not much time during that busy week 
for shopping, even had Caroline been fortunate 
enough to have money for her trousseau. The 
doctor’s and the nurse’s bills had, as she feared, 


276 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


taken all of her savings. She paid them gladly, 
happy that she had been able to provide for the 
emergency. 

Leigh said to her one morning: 

“ Don’t you think, Caroline, that the time has 
come when we could open some of Alison’s things. 
It is wrong to put them away to decay and go out 
of fashion. They are too beautiful to give to 
ordinary people who might need clothes — and 
one could scarcely offer them to friends.” 

And Caroline had answered quietly: 

11 I was thinking of that, Leigh. I shall need a 
few things, not many; Jimmy insists that he is 
going to buy my trousseau in London, which is of 
course absurd — a little out of a husband’s 
province.” 

Alison’s trunks had been sent to Leigh’s attic. 
They had never been unlocked, and Leigh and 
Caroline both dreaded opening them. They chose 
a stormy afternoon to look through the things 
and found the task less difficult than they had 
anticipated. 

Caroline had packed the frocks carefully, and 
as she took them out, one by one, and held them to 
the light, she resolved not to let her feelings over¬ 
come her judgment. Surely Alison, different as 


277 


A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 

she was from her sisters, would prefer that they 
share her possessions. They sorted and sifted, 
choosing garments that under Leigh’s skilful 
fingers would serve Caroline admirably. Few 
changes were necessary. 

So, it was with real affection, perhaps stronger 
than she had felt during Alison’s lifetime, that 
Caroline held the intimate things lovingly in her 
arms, — dumb garments that spoke so poignantly 
of her sister. 

In one of the drawers, stowed carefully beneath 
delicate lingerie, they came upon a faded velvet 
box. Caroline drew it forth tenderly. 

44 Alison’s pearls,” she said thoughtfully, let¬ 
ting the beautiful beads slip through her fingers. 
44 Don’t you remember, Leigh, how she always 
longed for them; way back in those childhood 
days? 4 My pearls,’ she would say, 4 that are to 
come to me when Great-aunt dies! ’ I can see her 
now.” 

Leigh smiled wanly. 44 Poor great-aunt,” she 
said. 4 4 If she could only have known how you 
children longed for her possessions! ” 

44 I wonder what ever became of her,” Caroline 
mused. 44 Was she a truly flesh-and-blood person, 
Leigh? ” 


278 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


44 Why, of course. When you go to England, 
why not try to trace her? I think I could get her 
husband’s name out of the old Kirtley Bible. I 
have it, you know.” 

Caroline’s face brightened. 44 What fun! ” she 
said. 44 But of course she has been dead — for 
ages! ” 

44 She ought not to be much older than Maumy. 
I remember hearing Mother say that Maumy, as a 
little girl, used to fetch and carry for her. Why 
did we never ask Maumy about her? ” 

44 Why did we never ask Maumy about a heap of 
things? ” Caroline whispered softly. 

She laid the pearls back in the box and handed 
them to Leigh. 

44 You must have them,” she said. 44 Who do 
you suppose ever sent them to Alison? ” 

Leigh put the box back in Caroline’s hands. 

44 I want you to keep them, dear,” she said with 
her usual generosity. 44 I don’t know who sent 
them — but I have often wondered ” — Caroline 
looked up — 4 4 if perhaps it might have been 
Madame Wakefield.” 

44 Madame Wakefield! Why should she be 
giving Alison pearls? ” 

Leigh shook her heard. 


44 I really don’t know, 


A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 


279 


except that she was very rich, and she lived across 
the street and was so friendly/’ she finished 
lamely. 

Caroline laughed. ‘ ‘ Leigh, how extraordinary! 
As if living across the street and being 
friendly-” 

“ I know, it sounds ridiculous, but just the 

same-” She stopped, checked by Caroline’s 

amused expression. 

“ There was something a little queer about it 
all, anyway. And Maumy used to go over there 
so much. I found her stealing away at night, 
carrying cookies and beaten biscuit.” 

“ I know. She told me-” 

« 

“ And staying so long. But when I spoke to 
her she said, 6 Madame, she like down-Souf cook¬ 
ing, Miss Leigh, and that white gal o’ hern don’t 
know a beat-up biscuit from a baked tater! ’ ” 

They both laughed. Suddenly Caroline so¬ 
bered, and a horrified look came over her face. 
“ Leigh! ” she exclaimed, catching hold of her 
sister’s arm. “ She couldn’t possibly have been 
— Great-aunt Caroline ! 99 

“ I don’t know who she was. I have often 
wondered.” 

“ Of course, she couldn’t have been, but if she 





280 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


were! Heavens, the things we used to say! Re¬ 
member the time Alison came home from Europe? 
Madame was calling that day. The things Alison 
said about English women — and Great-aunt; how 
she was some day going to leave her pearls to her. 
Leigh! It makes me shiver! Positively cold! 
It was only a little while after that the pearls 
came.” 

“ Don’t trust that fertile imagination of yours 
too much,” Leigh said. “ I think probably 
Madame Wakefield may have once lived in the 
South, but as for being our relative — that’s going 
a little too far.” 

“ I truly hope so,” Caroline said, as she selected 
the things she wished to take downstairs, the 
velvet box pressed tight in her hand. 

She really had no intention of keeping the 
pearls. The thought came to her that she would 
put them safely away for her little namesake. 

Caroline’s wedding day dawned bright and 
clear. 

“ Isn’t it strange how Fate takes a hand in all 
our plans? ” she said, as she slipped into the seal- 
brown broadcloth that was to serve for wedding 
and traveling dress. “ I always supposed that if 
I married, though I never thought I should, I 


A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 


281 


would go quietly up to the Falls at home, with the 
birds and chipmunks for guests, and let dear old 
Doctor Aurendel read the service with my family 
grouped about, and here I am-’’ 

“ Honoring us,” Leigh finished, straightening 
the browm velvet toque that set so snugly over 
Caroline’s ringlets. “ Are you quite ready? 
Here are your gloves and flowers. I have never 
seen you half so beautiful! If only Father could 
see you! 99 

Leigh wished that she had not given way to her 
thoughts. A spasm of pain crossed Caroline’s 
face. 

“ It is the only drawback to perfect happiness,” 
she said softly — “his absence, and Mother’s. 
But I shall soon be with them — in a cottage of 
my own, where I can run in upon them daily. 
Kiss me, Leigh dear. You have been mother and 
sister in one. I can never thank you for all you 
have done for me.” 

Simplicity marked the event in every particular. 
The long drawing-room was still bright with 
Christmas greens and Leigh had added, here and 
there, long-stemmed roses, arranged loosely in 
tall vases. 

Caroline stood in the bay window, the dull win- 



282 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


ter light falling softly across her face, sobered, 
even with so great happiness. She kept her eyes 
upon the young clergyman’s until he said, ‘ ‘ I now 
pronounce you man and wife,” and Jimmy slipped 
a wedding ring upon her finger. Then, for a brief 
second, she glanced up at her husband, her amber 
eyes glowing with love and adoration. Jimmy’s 
own glance was equally luminous. 

It was a little hard to say good-by to Leigh, for 
all Caroline was so happy, and Baby Carol refused 
to loosen her grasp upon “ Tante Ca’line’s ” 
finger. “ Go too, go too,” she cried until Jimmy 
suggested putting her in his overcoat pocket. 
That mode of traveling did not appeal to her. 

But they were off at last, in the waiting taxi, 
blowing their farewell kisses through the closed 
window — January had not been kind in the way 
of weather — calling messages and last requests. 

As long as the taxi was in sight, Leigh saw 
Caroline looking back, smiling through happy 
tears. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


GREAT-AUNT CAROLINE 

N EITHER Jimmy nor Caroline would have 
chosen January for a visit to England, but 
circumstances often alter plans. The trip was a 
joyous one nevertheless. The weather, although 
crisp and sharp, was calm enough to permit daily 
walks on deck or an occasional afternoon spent in 
steamer chairs, beneath warm rugs. 

To sit beside Jimmy for long hours at a stretch, 
to hear him talk of business, world conditions, 
civic activities in their own home, was a dreamed- 
of joy. Caroline herself was so awake, so inter¬ 
ested in topics of the day, so full of plans for the 
future, that the hours were not half long enough 
to visit and dream. 

Sometimes those conversations turned on sub¬ 
jects half-forgotten; boy and girl days spent in 
the mountains; Jimmy’s escapades at college; 
Caroline’s at her sorority. And those later days 
when he felt that he had lost her. Sometimes his 


284 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


hand would reach out and, finding hers, press 
tightly as if she might elude him. 

Carefully Jimmy had broached the subject of 
her play and of Fleming DeCoursey’s perfidy. 
At first Caroline would not discuss it. 

“ Let us forget it, Jimmy /’ she said gener¬ 
ously. “ It was a terrible blow, of course, but I 

have thought it all out-’’ For a moment she 

w 7 as silent, her eyes gazing far over the water. 

“ You know,” she said presently, “ I can almost 
understand it in a way. Temptation is such a 
frightful thing to meet and battle with. There 

were times at the office-” She hesitated, as 

if loathing to bare her own soul before the clear 
gray eyes above her. 

4 ‘ There were manuscripts — that passed 
through my hands, unspeakable ones, so far as 
style and English went, but — with such possibili¬ 
ties; a scene, atmosphere, plot; useless to the 
creator without technique and taste and — what 
shall I say — sympathy with life — it takes all 
that to build a story- 99 

She stopped again. 

“ I remember one in particular. Well, there it 
was. Mine for the taking. I could have changed 
names, places, twisted the plot, revised it so that 





GREAT-AUNT CAROLINE 285 

it would have deceived its own mother — brain 
children have mothers, you know, very tender 
ones, but something within me here ’ ’ — she laid 
her hand on her heart — ‘ i said no; no! no! Not a 
word, not a thought! I don’t know what it was 
that spoke within me: inheritance, blood, perhaps 
— or training. Most of all it was Major’s train¬ 
ing, Jimmy. Always he thundered in my ears. 
Be honest! Once-’ ’ 

She broke off again and looked up. The gray 
eyes were tender now; she could go on. “Once 
when I was a very little girl, I came home one day 
with a beautiful new piece of chalk. You know 
how lovely chalk looks to a child when it is all 
smooth and round. The teacher had opened a 
special box. I saw it on her desk, and when her 
back was turned I took a piece — it was blue, I 
remember, a heavenly blue, bright and gay. I hid 
it in my pocket, but somehow I didn’t like it 
there — it —it seemed to burn a hole in it. I 
remember feeling of it to see if it were hot. 

“ I took it home to lunch and laid it beside my 
plate at table. Major saw it. I tried to roll it 
under my plate. He must have been watching my 
face, for when I looked up and caught his eyes, 
they too were burning holes. 



286 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


44 4 Where did yon get it, Caroline? ’ he asked. 

u ‘ At school,’ I said. 

44 4 Did the teacher give it to you? ’ he inquired. 

44 I tried to say yes, but my lips refused to move. 

44 After lunch he took me in his office —and got 
the story out of me. I had seen the chalk, wanted 
it, and when the teacher’s back was turned, took 
it. 

44 I shall never forget the look in his eyes. He 
held the chalk in his hand for a moment looking 
at it, then laid it in mine. 

4 4 4 I want you to take this back to Miss Brown, 
Caroline,’ he said, 4 and tell her just how you got 
it.’ 

44 I begged and plead with him. He was ada¬ 
mant. 

44 Never, not even that awful day when I 
watched my own play acted before my eyes, have 
I suffered as I did then; but I did as I was bade. 
I gave Miss Brown the chalk and said — 4 I have 
brought this back — I took it out of your box — 
when you weren’t looking. ’ ” 

She was choking now as she told the story and 
her eyes filled with tears. 44 My father could not 
have done me a nobler service. That lesson in 
humility has gone through the years with me, 


GREAT-AUNT CAROLINE 287 


branded me with honesty. I have been hoping, 
Jimmy, that Fleming DeCoursey would come to 
me — save his own soul — for he has damned it 
beyond self-gratification. My play can do him no 
good — scorching him mind and heart! ” 

She wondered why Jimmy got up so abruptly 
and took a sudden turn along the deck. When he 
came back he changed the subject, but his eyes 
were still thoughtful. 

They landed at Liverpool on a drab wet morn¬ 
ing, going directly to London. Caroline was 
anticipating a visit with her old friend, Madame 
Wakefield, so as soon as they were comfortably 
located, they went out to her country home. 

She was scarcely prepared for the changes in 
her old friend. Caroline found her propped 
among her pillows, a victim of asthma; she had 
always been more or less afflicted with it. Caro¬ 
line remembered how she had puffed and wheezed 
at home in the high altitude. She seemed very 
feeble and Caroline realized, as she held her 
wasted hand, that she was nearing the end of life’s 
long journey. She insisted upon Caroline and 
Jimmy spending a week-end at the Towers, a fine 
old estate set at the edge of the woods. And, al¬ 
though they accepted the invitation gladly, she 


288 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


could only visit with them for a few minutes at a 
time. Her breath came in such short, painful 
gasps that it was an effort to speak. 

But one twilight, after tea, before the lamps 
were lighted, when the firelight filled the quaint 
room with rosy shadows, she called Caroline to 
her side. She seemed better than she had been 
since Caroline’s arrival. 

“ Jimmy must sit here,” she said, pointing to 
a low chair beside her; Caroline was on the other 
side. “ There is much that I want to say to you 
both. Much that I want you to do for me after I 
am gone.” The thin hand that lay in Caroline’s 
pressed closer. 

“ I want to tell you a little story,” she began, 
u the story of a young Virginia girl who came to 

England when she was very young-” She 

stopped and looked down lovingly at Caroline. 
“ Do you know who she was? ” she asked and 
paused. 

A flush swept Caroline’s face. She could not 
speak. Her conversation with Leigh passed 
through her mind; but she leaned forward and 
said frankly: 

i i She could not possibly have been — Caroline 
Kirtley! ” 



GREAT-AUNT CAROLINE 289 

“ She was — exactly/’ Madame Wakefield re¬ 
peated slowly. “ Caroline Kirtley — yonr great- 
aunt. Look up at her, dear — old and feeble and 
forlorn now; but once young and happy and 
lovely as you are.’ ’ 

For a moment there was a deathly silence. 
Jimmy had half turned in his seat and was look¬ 
ing up into the old face reverently; outside in the 
trees, the wind sighed and murmured; a clock on 
the mantel ticked loudly. 

Caroline rose and, putting an arm about the 
shrunken form propped in the snowy pillows, laid 
her head beside the aged one. 

“ How can you ever forgive us,” she said 
brokenly, “ ever, everf The way we joked and 
talked about you.” 

Madame turned the scarlet face about and left 
a kiss on the ringlets that curled above the shamed 
eyes. 

“ My dear child — I was simply a myth to you; 
do not give it a thought. Let me tell you my story 
while I have the strength.” 

When she had finished, Caroline drew a quick 

breath. 

“ And Maumy knew all the time? ” she asked, 

* 

scarcely crediting her own question. 


290 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


“ Yes, Maumy knew. Her sharp eyes looked 
through age and destruction. She promised not 
to tell. She never did? ” 

“ No — she never did,” Caroline answered, and 
her mind was busy with that last hour of 
Maumy’s. She could see those black, beady eyes 
straining toward her; hear her eager question, 
“ I ain’t said nothing I hadn’t orter, has I? ” 
No, Maumy had been faithful to the end. 

“ One other knew,” Madame went on; “ your 
father. I went to him because I wanted to do 
something for you, my namesake, but he refused 
my offer. He wished you to carve your own 
future. I hope that you have been successful; 
he was so sure of your ability and worth! ” She 
paused for a little while, musing, then went on. 

“ There is little more to say. The war made 
sad havoc in my family. My nephews are both 
gone; after my servants have been pensioned, and 
my friends — the few that are near and dear have 
been looked after — you, Caroline, must have the 
rest of my belongings; this old estate which I have 

loved, my land and jewels-” 

At the word jewels, Caroline looked up. 

“It was you — Madame ” (she could not yet 



GREAT-AUNT CAROLINE 291 


say Aunt Caroline), “ who sent Alison the 
pearls'? ” 

“ Yes, who else? They belonged to her. She 
had claimed them in her childhood. ’’ She laughed 
softly. 4 ‘ And you — let me see, you wanted a 
circus. Well, there are horses in the stables, 
many of them-” 

“ And Mayre has all the time she wishes to 
study art; that was her dream. Some one must 
have waved a fairy wand over us. Oh, what 
wretched little youngsters we were, prating so! ” 

Madame was beginning to droop again. To¬ 
gether Jimmy and Caroline rearranged her 
pillows and her maid came to wheel her away. 

“ You will meet my lawyer here to-morrow 
morning, Jimmy,’’ she said, as she left the room. 
i 6 At ten o ’clock; please be prompt. I shall try 
to be with you. ’ ’ 



CHAPTER XIX 


CAROLINE S CAREER 


HREE years have passed since that morning 



A conference in Madame Wakefield’s drawing¬ 
room, three busy happy years for Jimmy and 
Caroline. Madame Wakefield has long since 
passed to her reward. In New York, where a 
flashing sign once spelled “ David,” another 
word shines forth, “ grooved.” The word blinks 
off and on, and under it follows, “ a gripping play 

OF MODERN TIMES.” 

Occasionally, when they are in New York, 
Jimmy and Caroline stand before that sign, 
watching it glow and fade, and sometimes Caro¬ 
line says with a sigh, “ Poor Femmy DeCoursey! 
I so often think of him and wonder where he is. 
I can never forget that day you brought him to 
me in London. His humility haunts me.” 

“ DeCoursey is a man now, wherever he is, 
thanks to your generosity, Caroline,” Jimmy 
answers, looking into his wife’s blooming face. 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 293 

“ Some day we shall hear of his success. Fate 
is kind to the brave.” 

But the young Ludlows spend very little time 
in New York, or in London, despite their interests 
there. The Towers, now Caroline’s property, has 
been let to careful tenants, and Madame Wake¬ 
field’s other interests transferred to America. 

Far out in the West, in the shadow of a blue 
mountain, a new house has reared its roofs and 
gables. In one of the upper chambers where the 
west window reveals a pink afterglow that trails 
along the Peak, and gives a regal view of its white 
cap in winter, Caroline still writes and dreams. 

An ideal life goes on within those walls. Some¬ 
times the Major, with his frail wife leaning 
heavily upon his arm, walks the short distance 
that intervenes between their house and Caro¬ 
line’s, to have dinner with the “ the children.” 
Sometimes Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow, Senior, join 
them, and sometimes there are visitors from 
California: Biddy and Mayre with their two 
babies; the heavenly twins, Jimmy calls them, 
Bobby and Betty, lively and mischievous. 

Sometimes there are other guests: Margaret 
McIntosh, who loves to sit in the firelight and 
discuss “cases” with Jimmy, while Caroline sews 


294 


CAROLINE’S CAREER 


on little garments that worry her impatient 
fingers; never adept with a needle. 

Eunice Middleton drops in too, once in a while, 
and brings Uncle Jeff, upon whom she bestows 
loving care. Eunice is pretty and capable and 
worthwhile, so Jimmy says, and Caroline thinks 
Jimmy knows. 

It is only occasionally that ‘ ‘ a career ’ 9 is men¬ 
tioned in the household. When it is, Caroline 
leads the way to a large chamber on the third 
floor swept with pure mountain breezes, and lifting 
a wee laddie from a substantial bassinet, lays him 
in his adoring father’s arms. 

“ There he is, dear,” she says softly: li my 
career — his blessed majesty — Jimmy, Junior! 99 


THE END. 






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